


Hope is the Thing with Feathers

by Fox_Salz



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Swan Maidens, Trans Character, Trans Fiddleford H. McGucket, Trans Male Character, Trans Rick, Trans Rick Sanchez, fiddauthor - Freeform, kidnapping and selling sentient creatures, more like, references to a past abusive relationship, stanchez, swan folk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/pseuds/Fox_Salz
Summary: Trying to escape their past, and in particular a certain Jimmy Snakes who would gladly see them dead, Stanley and Stanford Pines are hiding out in Gravity Falls. It's there that they meet two swans who are far more than either brother expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guess who's back with another stanchez and fiddauthor story! That's right, and this time we go from the old west to 80s period mythology! Featuring a mythological creature that doesn't get enough love: the swan maiden. Or in this case, swan folk. 
> 
> I'm rating this T, but that may be subject to go up to M for a bit of violence later on, but I think T is good. Feel free to correct me if you think otherwise, because boy am I pretty clueless in rating things that aren't explicit or saccharine PG. 
> 
> Oh and I want to say this one is going to be far shorter than 'When the Strangers Blew In', or the ongoing 'Lava You Lots'. I swear. I know I say my fics will be short every time I start one, but this time I really mean it.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Uh, mentions of drugs and allusions to attempted murder.

Stanford and Stanley Pines were sitting in the middle of their sparse living room, back to back. Beside them was a bowl of heavily buttered popcorn and their last can of soda.

 

“Why do they leave the pit in here?” Stanford wondered.

 

“That’s how they get the name, Sixer.” Stanley took the can and said with a flourish, “Pitt Cola!”

 

He gulped the rest of the drink down, nearly choking on the pit. He spat it back into the can.

 

Silence fell over the twins. It was quiet enough to hear a faint scuttling from the kitchen. Stanley groaned.

 

“The gnomes are back.”

 

“I took care of them last time.”

 

“I’m all scratched up from those stupid leprecorns!”

 

Stanford rolled his eyes but got up. Stanley let himself fall, not enough energy to bother staying upright. Stanford walked over him into the other room.

 

Thankfully there were only two. Without a word he picked them both up by the back of the shirt. Ignoring their protests Stanford tossed them out the window they’d opened. He made sure to lock it this time.

 

Stanford returned to his brother who hadn’t moved an inch. His arms were more bandaged than not, but at least he wasn’t bleeding through them anymore. They’d have to make a stop at the pharmacy next time they went to the store. Which would have to be soon, since they had been forced to eat popcorn for dinner.

 

Gravity Falls was, by far, the strangest place the twins had ever come through—and they’d found themselves in a lot of bizarre places since they left New Jersey. New Jersey being one of those bizarre places. 

 

The town was quaint, small population full of families who’d known each other for generations, and all of them were colorful characters without a doubt. That wasn’t even touching on the amazing and colorful wonders in the forest surrounding their little shack. Well, perhaps ‘ _wonders_ ’ didn’t quite apply to creatures like the gnomes, or the leprecorns they had dealt with earlier, or the unicorns for that matter. Or a vast majority of the beasts lurking about that would gladly eat the brothers.

 

Still, Gravity falls, and the forest with all its deadly life forms, if nothing else were fascinating. 

 

“I really like this town,” Stanford declared, truly meaning it.

 

Stanley made a sound very similar to a whiney toddler.

 

“I’m sorry, did you have your heart set on prison? Or maybe that hole Jimmy’s gang was digging for us? I could always call them up—”

 

“Point taken.” Stanley pushed himself up, grimacing at the effort. “Yeah this isn’t the worst place to be. The townspeople are nice. Stupid, easy to swindle. I’ve gotta find the perfect scheme.”

 

“As long as it doesn’t involve drugs.”

 

“Hey, Jimmy used me and you know it! Distracted me with his good looks and tried to set us up, dirty bastard.”

 

Stanford held up his hands. “I didn’t mean it accusingly. Though I did warn you he was no good.”

 

“ _Stanford_.”

 

“Right, sorry.”

 

Stanford went over to the only chair they owned, a well used armchair they had picked up from a scorned woman throwing out her cheating husband’s things. She had also given them a very expensive set of tools in fantastic condition which Stanford considered using right now. There were several experiments of his that needed tending, or their supernatural hunting gear to repair. But he sunk into the chair and knew it wouldn’t let him go any time soon. Stanley, too, was beginning to nod off at his feet.

 

Before he conceded himself to sleep Stanford whispered his twin’s name, getting a nonsensical mumble in reply. “We are safe here, right?”

 

“From Jimmy’s gang? Yeah. No way those bozos will track us down to this weird town. And with Jimmy locked up ain’t none of them with enough brains to threaten us anymore.”

 

Stanford breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Now if you’re askin’ if we’re safe from the monsters in the forest, sleep well knowing we have the most important power on our side.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Punching.”

 

Stanford snorted, and soon both of them drifted off.

 

——

 

“I’m hot,” Stanley whined.

 

“I know,” Stanford sighed.

 

“I’m _starving_.”

 

“I _know_.”

 

“I”m _bored_ , Sixer.”

 

“I _know_ , Stanley.”

 

“I—”

 

Stanford wheeled around. “Stanley, if you say one more word I will personally string you up and leave you as gremloblin bait.”

 

Stanley held up his hands. Stanford took a deep breath, rubbing his temples.

 

“ _Finally_.”

 

For a brief, blissful moment there was silence. It was broken by a deep growl.

 

“Should I warn you about the thing right behind you, or do you still want me to shut up?”

 

“Is it any of the known creatures we’ve studied thus far?”

 

“Uh, I don’t think so. Looks kinda like a large, angry skunk. With spikes on its back.”

 

“Then I have to study it.”

 

The creature growled again, and Stanford heard movement.

 

“Yeah, I figured,” Stanley groaned.

 

At the same time the twins jumped into action. They dodged to ether side as the skunk like beast lunged at them. It was larger than the two of them combined, indeed with a row of very sharp looking spikes jutting out along its spine and tail. Interestingly enough, where a normal skunk would have white fur, this one had lime green.

 

Stanford whipped out his camera and snapped a quick shot of the creature’s side. The beast turned, giving him the perfect angle of its face.

 

“Fascinating! Isn’t this—”

 

Stanley yanked him out of the way just as the beast thrashed its tail, thankfully striking a tree instead of Stanford. It roared.

 

“Isn’t this creature amazing?”

 

“Damn it, Sixer, fawn over it later. Let’s get out of here.”

 

The beast reared up, letting out a howl that echoed through the forest. The twins were struck with an immediate sense of dread.

 

“That sounded like a call for backup.”

 

“Perhaps you’re right about retreating for now.”

 

They started running. The creature was between them and their shack, and even if it wasn’t leading this thing there would not be a good idea; they really needed to build some sort of monster defense. So they ran deeper into the forest, weaving between trees.

 

The beast was hot on their trail, and they could hear crashing limbs as it chased after them.

 

“Got any ideas, Sixer?”

 

“Our usual.”

 

“Improvisation it is.”

 

They looked around for anything that could help, Wisely, it seemed that any other living creature had already gotten the hell out of there.

 

“We need to be careful,” Stanford said. “We’re nearing the gremloblin den.”

 

“That gives me a great idea!”

 

“What— _oh_.” Stanford’s eyes lit up. “That might just work.”

 

Despite their instincts screaming at them to stay far away from that monster—they’d learned the hard way what the gremloblin was capable of—Stan and Ford raced towards its territory. Soon the forest began to darken, and before they knew it there were two yellow eyes piercing out of the shadows. Then an ugly, hulking beast jumped out. It gnashed its long fangs and swiped at the twins. They both ducked and ran around the monster. Before the gremloblin could go after them the skunk beast came barreling out of the trees, and they collided.

 

“That takes care of that,” Stanley declared as the two creatures began fighting each other.

 

Stanford hummed in agreement, busy taking as many photos as he could. The chances of getting an opportunity like this again were astronomical.

 

“I can’t wait to develop these. We’ll need to name this new creature, too.”

 

“Yeah, let’s do that when we’re far, _far_ away.”

 

Stanley grabbed his brother and they headed back to the shack. As soon as they got home they set the film up in their darkroom. While it developed they tried to scrounge something up in the kitchen. Earlier they had gone to the Dusk 2 Dawn, a little ma and pop convenience store, but with their measly funds hadn’t managed to buy much.

 

“Pickle sandwiches it is.” Stanford scrunched his nose. Taking out two beers Stanley nudged him. “Ah, come on, this’ll wash it down.”

 

Stanford sighed but took the offered bottle. He took a generous swing of the cheap booze while his twin fixed their sandwiches.

 

“We really need to figure out a way to make money.”

 

“Like on the up and up, or something a bit shadier?”

 

“Well I’d like to not get run out of town. For starters there still so much here I want to research. Not to mention it’s less likely for us to be found here.”

 

“Right, right. I’ll go back into town this week and see if I can find anything.”

 

“Maybe the radio or tv station has more equipment you could fix.”

 

“Let’s hope. Or that farmer. Farm equipment breaks down all the time, right?”

 

“I’d hope not on the basis of food production, yet I hope so in the name of our profit.”

 

“Just throwing this out there, we can always insure things break down, if you catch my meaning. Wink.”

 

“Did you just _say_ wink?”

 

“Yeah. The broad at the diner keeps doing that. Guess it just rubbed off.”

 

Stanford laughed.

 

After they ate they decided to head to the lake. Since it was October it would be empty, and they’d have it all to themselves.

 

It was not as unoccupied as they had assumed.

 

They heard the commotion first—some angry honking and splashing. Curiously they hurried to the lake, and there on the edge of the water were two swans being harassed by some gnomes. The little creatures seemed to be trying to pull out their feathers. The swans were fighting fiercely, flapping their wings and pecking at their assailants, but they were outnumbered. The smaller one appeared to be injured; there were splotches of red on its pale feathers.

 

“These guys are always messing with someone,” Stanley growled. Cupping his hands around his mouth he yelled, “Hey!”

 

The gnomes glanced at them. A few hollered back some incredibly rude words. While distracted, the larger swan got a good nick on one of them, stealing his pointed hat. The gnome jumped up trying to get it back to no avail, the swan holding it just out of reach.

 

“I like these swans,” Stanley said. Stanford agreed with a snicker.

 

The twins picked up rocks and ran forward, pelting the gnomes with a relentless torrent of stone and making sure not to hit the swans. They scurried away.

 

“Say hi to your hot queen for me!” Stanley shouted at them with a laugh.

 

“Stanley!”

 

“Huh? Oh—say hi for Sixer, too!”

 

Stanford rolled his eyes. “You are astounding.”

 

“What? So she’s a freaky little thing. She kinda does it for me.”

 

Stanford slugged him in the arm. “This is why the gnomes always bother us.”

 

“Hey, they started it by raiding our shack all the time.”

 

One of the swans honked and they turned towards the pair. The large one had gotten between its companion and them. Stanley and Stanford held up their hands.

 

“Whoa, buddy. It’s okay. We’re friends.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind getting a look at that other one and inspecting it for injuries,” Stanford said.

 

“Good luck, Sixer. I think that swan could eat you.”

 

“Hm, I wonder if there’s a way to assure it we mean them no harm.”

 

“Just because the forest is full of talking unicorns and gnomes doesn’t mean…huh. Hey, swans, you speak English?”

 

The swans just looked at him. The big one did not seem impressed, but the other honked at their companion. Reluctantly the bigger one swam back just enough to give them some room.

 

“Hm. I suppose they can understand us then,” Stanford mused. “I’m going to look you over now, is that alright?”

 

The injured swan bobbed their head as though nodding. Stanford slowly approached the animal, making sure his hands were visible so as to not startle the swan. He laid a hand on its feathered back, just above a patch of blood. Gently he pushed feathers aside, revealing teethmarks he easily identified as gnome. It was shallow, at least. Stanford reached into his bag and took out a small bottle.

 

“Now this will sting, but it will help protect against infection.”

 

He poured a bit of alcohol on the wound, and instantly the swan reared its head back with a pained honk. The other swan started towards them, but reluctantly paused when his partner gave him a look.

 

Stanford cleaned the bite and wrapped it as best he could. The swan honked gratefully, nuzzling his face. Stanford laughed in surprise.

 

“You’re most welcome. I can’t very well tell you not to get that wet, but it’s no matter. You should heal up just fine.”

 

“These little ladies all fixed up?” Stanley asked.

 

The swans began honking loud and angry, the larger one flapping its wings indignantly. The twins recoiled.

 

“Yeesh! What’d I say?”

 

“I suppose that means they’re male swans,” Stanford guessed.

 

This thankfully settled the pair. The twins let out a sigh of relief.

 

Swans taken care of, it was time to relax like they’d original come there for. They brought out the Stan o’ War II, a small rowboat they had found in disrepair and fixed up, and kicked back with a couple of beers stolen from the dock manager’s office. Instantly a calmness washed over them.

 

“Now this is the life,” Stanley sighed as they clanked their bottles together. Stanford hummed.

 

This time of the year not many people ventured out to the lake, so they’d been enjoying having it to themselves. Today, however, it seemed they’d be floating with company.

 

“Oh, hello again.”

 

The swans swam lackadaisical around their boat, watching them. There seemed to be curiosity in their dark eyes. The brothers shared a glance, shrugging.

 

“And you always say we’re bad at making friends, Sixer.”

 

“Well, I suppose swans don’t care if someone happens to be a freak with too many fingers.”

 

Stanley frowned. “You’re not a freak, Sixer. People are just assholes.”

 

“What about Fil—”

 

“Never take a damn thing he ever said to heart,” Stanley interjected sternly. “Remember ma instead.”

 

“‘It’s good to be unique, boys’,” Stanford quoted, imitating their mother’s New Jersey accent.

 

The twins shared a rueful smile.

 

The swan Stanford had treated suddenly nudged him. He turned to the animal in puzzlement. Then the swan nudged his beak against Stanford’s hand.

 

“You want to see my six fingers?”

 

Stanford held up a hand and indeed the swan seemed to examine it. He wiggled his fingers for extra effect. The swan glanced at his partner who turned expectantly to Stanley.

 

“Mine too? I only got five.”

 

Nonetheless he held up his hand, too. The swans looked back and forth between the brothers, then after a moment let out a pair of satisfied honks.

 

Stanley and Stanford couldn’t help laughing at the bizarre creatures. They certainly belonged in Gravity Falls.

 

Feeling brave, Stanley reached over and patted the larger swan’s head. The creature jerked back and gave him a startled look, but after a moment of deliberation put his head back for Stanley to continue.

 

The other swan looked hopefully at Stanford. Grinning, he gently stroked the beautiful creature.

 

Until the sun set they staid on their boat, talking about nothing in particular and enjoining their new companions. All thoughts of monsters—human or otherwise—pushed to the back of their minds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go to see their swans, and the weather doesn't hold up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are with chapter two. This is a slow beginning, but I swear things pick up next time.

A plate clanked onto the table and Stanford’s head snapped up from his journal. Susan smiled at him. Refilling his coffee she told him, “Stanley said you were partial to cherry pie.”

 

“Oh! Uh, well, yes. But I—”

 

“It’s on the house, sweetie! An extra little thanks since you boys have been helping out around here so much.”

 

“It’s really nothing,” Stanford said shyly, adjusting his glasses and glancing down.

 

“It’s not nothing! You know, I’m the only one working this diner most of the time and if it weren’t for you boys I don’t know what I’d do. It was impossible before you two came along.”

 

“Always glad to help a pretty lady,” Stanley said, coming up to the table. Susan giggled. He flashed her a smile before sliding into the booth across from Stanford. “I got everything in the freezer moved back. If it gives you any more trouble you just let us know.”

 

“If it means I get to see my favorite faces around here more often I’ll break it myself. Wink.”

 

With that she went over to another table. Beaming, Stan glanced over at his twin and the open journal.

 

“How’s note taking going?”

 

“Well I added your commentary to the unicorn page.”

 

“How they’re all huge jerks and sore losers who owe me poker money?”

 

“You’ll shake them down one day. More importantly, here.”

 

Stanford held the book up for him to see. While the right page was blank, the other had an illustration of two swans. Specifically, their swans. The text was scarce since they didn’t know much about them yet.

 

“Oh hey, far out. So what are we calling them?”

 

“I haven’t quite decided yet. I suppose we can always brainstorm and see what they would prefer.”

 

Stanley agreed—they were quite picky creatures who made it known if they didn’t like something—and when they left the diner they headed straight to the lake. Their swans were hanging around the middle of the water, but when the twins called out they swam over with excited honks.

 

Since chasing off those gnomes Stanley and Stanford had made a routine of visiting the swans. It was oddly relaxing to aimlessly lay in their little boat and talk to the attentive creatures. How much they understood was questionable, but they seemed to listen to whatever the twins told them. Mostly they gossiped about townsfolk, and then there had been a few moments of one or both of the twins reminiscing—which usually brought on admissions and near tears; they were glad their companions, while magical, were swans.

 

Occasionally Stanford would show them journal entries, and once he had even bought an invention he had been tinkering around with. The swans had seemed quite intrigued with that. The larger one had plucked the screw driver from his hands and Stanford had let them keep it when he seemed reluctant to give the tool back.

 

Today Stanford had brought another screwdriver, this one specifically for the smaller swan. Perhaps it was silly but he simply didn’t want to leave him out.

 

He presented it to the swan now, and to his delight the swan happily honked and took the tool. Banjo, as Stanford had taken to calling him after coming to the lake and seeing the swan with said instrument, swam in a circle, brandishing it high in his beak.

 

The twins let out a laugh.

 

“Guess your swan likes it.”

 

“My swan?”

 

“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed? That one really took a liking to you. Hardly ever pays attention to me.”

 

“Hm, I suppose that’s because I treated him.”

 

Suddenly the bigger swan nudged Stanley. Stanley petted him but the swan only gazed up expectantly. Stanford snickered.

 

“I believe _your_ swan wants a present now.”

 

“Uh, okay hold on, Honeypants.”

 

Stanley rummaged around his pockets under the waiting gaze of swans and his brother’s laughter. All he could offer up was an old pocket knife.

 

“Want this? It’s nothing special but—”

 

The swan honked and snatched the knife out of his hand. He seemed quite pleased as he held it up for Stanford and his companion to see. Stanley grinned.

 

“We’ll have to find them something really good next time,” he said, watching them swim off with their prizes. They had some sort of hiding spot the twins had never seen.

 

They got their boat into the water and their swans met them out in the middle of the lake. It was a calm evening.

 

“Oh, I did some research and found out what type of swans these are. Or rather, at least appear to be, since obviously they’re not normal swans.” Stanford first pointed towards the smaller one. “Mine is a tundra swan, judging by the yellow on his bill and the slight copper tint to some of his top feathers. Yours,” and he indicated the other swan, “seems to be a trumpeter swan. See his fully black bill? Now I don’t know how to account for the slight bluish tint to his feathers, but again, they’re not quite your regular run of the mill swans.”

 

“Huh. Well whatever kind they are they’re pretty cute. Ain’t that right, little guy?” Stan petted his swan who preened under the affection.

 

“Can’t disagree with that,” Stanford said, stroking the other swan. Banjo bent his neck forward happily.

 

For a while the brothers talked and joked about while their swans swam around their boat. Occasionally they honked as though adding to the conversation, though the twins could only guess at their meaning.

 

“We really need a punching bag. I haven’t boxed in ages. Don’t want these hard earned muscles getting lax.”

 

Stanley flexed and patted his upper arm. Stanford rolled his eyes.

 

“I still have my gloves, you know.”

 

“No offense, Sixer, but I wouldn’t want to break you.”

 

Narrowing his eyes Stanford huffed, “We both took the same classes. I’m not completely awful.”

 

“Last time we sparred I gave you a black eye.”

 

Face heating up, Stanford looked out into the water. He flipped his twin off when Stanley snickered.

 

Banjo came over, peering at him curiously. He honked and Stanford petted him.

 

With a flourish of feathers Honeypants hopped up into the boat. He went over to Stanley and nestled against his side. Grinning, Stanley draped an arm around the swan and gently stroked him.

 

“You appreciate good muscles, huh Honeypants.”

 

To Banjo Stanford explained, “My strength is in my legs. Mostly from running.”

 

Banjo honked understandingly. He followed his companion into the boat and settled on Stanford’s lap. Stanford petted Banjo with long strokes from the top of his head down to his tail feathers.

 

“You know, I’m certain this isn’t normal swan behavior.”

 

“Probably not,” Stanley agreed. “I’m okay with that though.”

 

When the sky suddenly darkened they looked up curiously. Storm clouds had moved in when they weren’t paying attention, and as if those clouds were waiting for the acknowledgment that’s when they opened up. A few sprinkles at first, but soon it picked up tensity until they were caught in a downpour. The rain was hard and heavy, stinging as it pelted them. Their swans honked unhappily, shivering; the twins tried to shield them as much as they could.

 

“Guess we need to head back,” Stanley mused. “I don’t want to just leave them here, though.”

 

“Me neither. The shack is big enough if Honeypants and Banjo want to join us.”

 

“What do you say, little guys? Wanna come home with us?” Stanley offered with a wide grin.

 

They grin quickly faltered at the swans’ reactions. They honked several times, distressed sounds that startled the twins, and slapped their wings frantically.

 

“Whoa! Okay, okay, you don’t have to come back with us!”

 

“We’re sorry for upsetting you,” Stanford apologized.

 

The twins comforted their swans, stroking them gently until they calmed. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon, though, and they worried about the creatures. It was getting rapidly darker, too, and if they didn’t leave soon it’d be hard to get home with such little vision. Suddenly  there was a tremendous crash of thunder followed by a flash of lightening that lit up the lake.

 

“You really should be in some sort of shelter.”

 

“Hey what if we open up the dock office? That should keep you guys warm and dry enough,” Stanley suggested. “How’s that sound?”

 

The swans shared a look. There was another thunderous boom, sounding far louder than the last, which sent Banjo honking fearfully. Honeypants lurched towards him, but Stanford was already comfort him and he turned back to Stanley. He let out a single honk which the twins took as concession.

 

It was easy enough to break into the small office. Stanford produced a flashlight and set it in the middle of the room so the swans wouldn’t be in full darkness. They waddled around, examining this new place.

 

“They do seem rather spooked about the storm,” Stanford commented out of their earshot. Stanley nodded.

 

“Maybe they got caught in a bad one.”

 

“Perhaps. It could have separated them from their bevy. It would explain why they’re alone.”

 

The twins frowned. For a bit they watched their swans explore. They seemed much happier now that they were out of the storm. When they settled the twins said their goodbyes.

 

“We’ll be back in the morning, little guys,” Stanley promised, kneeling down and stroking Honeypants.

 

“You should be fine in here.” He scratched Banjo’s head. “Don’t go out until it’s died down. I doubt the dock manager will be by.”

 

As they started to leave Banjo honked frantically. Honeypants bit Stan’s jacket and tugged.

 

“Hey we’ll be—” A crack of thunder interjected, making Stanley jump.

 

“It’s coming down even harder now. Perhaps we should stay.”

 

“Cool, sleepover with swans.”

 

“While we’re technically trespassing.”

 

“With beer,” Stanley added, going over to the dock manager’s hidden stash and taking out a couple of bottles.

 

The twins grinned and settled down between their swans after stripping from their wet clothes, leaving just their mostly dry underwear on. The pair hopped into their laps, making themselves comfortable. Stan and Ford clanged their bottles together. A well timed strike of thunder rumbled the room.

 

“Really glad we staid,” Stanley commented, wrapping a loose arm around Honeypants.

 

Stanford hummed in agreement, stroking Banjo’s chest. The swans preened under the attention.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdly enough as I post this chapter that ends with a storm it's storming over here now. o_0


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins head to the lake, only to find a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far this chapter has some of my favorite dialogue of the story. Neither Stanley nor Stanford are the best at making good decisions. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Some nudity and that's about it.

“I hate them so much,” Stanley groused, hopping along on one foot as he tried to fix his shoe.

 

Tugging a stick from his hair Stanford agreed, “They are the worst things in this forest.”

 

“Shmebulock.”

 

The twins paused, glaring at their unwelcome companion. The gnome frowned and turned around.

 

“Shmebulock.”

 

“Oh, don’t give us that!”

 

“Be sorry all you want,” Stanford said, adjusting his glasses. “That doesn’t change—really?” He sighed, realizing his glasses were bent.

 

“Being sorry doesn’t change the fact your friends are assholes,” Stanley finished. “I almost had that unicorn’s gold stash before your buddies had to ruin everything. Do you know how valuable gold is? And how good it looks on me?”

 

“Shmebulock!”

 

The gnome reached into his tunic and proudly produced two gold coins. He handed them to the twins. His smile was so giddy and innocent they couldn’t help but accept his peace offering.

 

“Thanks, Shmebulock. Now get back before your queen gets mad at you again.”

 

“Take care, Shmebulock.”

 

The gnome waved goodbye before running off.

 

“Well, at least this wasn’t a complete bust. A little gold is better than none. More would have been even better, but we can make this work.”

 

“Is there even anywhere in town we can exchange it?” Stanford wondered.

 

“Damn it. Eh, I’ll melt it down into a necklace or something.”

 

Stanley pocketed the coins and they headed towards the lake. They needed to relax after their harrowing morning. Nothing sounded better than taking their boat out on the calm water, just them and their swans.

 

When they got there, however, they weren’t alone.

 

They spotted the strange garments laying on the bank first. Stanley picked one up curiously; he’d never seen robes made of feathers before. Then he picked up the other one, comparing the mainly white feathers. There was sort of a copper tint to the second robe, while the first had a faint trace of pale blue.

 

Out in the distance were two figures, human instead of the expected swans. Whoever they were, they were too far away for the twins to see clearly.

 

“Honeypants and Banjo must be hiding,” Stanley assumed.

 

“Hm, most likely. I suppose we could always come back later, though I hate to leave. You know how jittery they can be.”

 

Before Stanley could reply the strangers started swimming closer to shore. On instinct the twins ducked into a nearby bush. The strangers didn’t notice them at all. The twins watched them through the leaves; now that they weren’t so far they could see that the strangers were completely topless.

 

 _Beautiful_ popped into both their minds. One was brunette, skin peachy and glistening from the water. The other’s skin was darker, natural not just from sun, which made the pale blue of their hair even more striking.

 

The darker one splashed the brunette. Their laughter rang out over the otherwise quiet lake as they chased their companion, splashing wildly and ignoring halfhearted pleading to stop. 

 

The brunette swam closer to shore, near where the twins were. They held their breaths as the strangers stood. Both were easily taller than them, the brunette by just a bit while the darker one was at least six foot. The pair were slim, and incredibly nude.

 

Stanley and Stanford slapped a hand over their eyes. There was no easy way to get out of there unless the strangers went back further into the lake, giving the twins their opportunity to sneak off before they were spotted and accused of being peeping toms.

 

It didn’t seem like that opportunity would come, however, as the strangers stepped onto land. The twins held still as stone as they shook off excess water.

 

“You’re incorrigible, Rick,” the brunette said good-naturedly. The other one, Rick, grinned.

 

“Y-you love it, Fidds. I—” Rick froze. “Where are my feathers?”

 

Incredulously Stanford stared at Stanley who stared down at his hands. Where he was still holding onto the robes.

 

Stanford narrowed his eyes with a look on his face that screamed _why_.

 

Stanley shrugged as if to reply _whoops_.

 

Suddenly a rock flew into the bush, missing them by just an inch.

 

“C-come out, mother fuckers! We know you’re there!”

 

“Please give us back our feathers,” Fidds added softly.

 

The twins stepped out from behind the bush, hands up in surrender. Which left nothing to shield their eyes form the nude strangers. Faces flushed they tried not to look directly at them, in particular anywhere below their necks. It was very hard.

 

The brunette, Fidds, stood behind the other, clutching their arm tightly. The twins couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty.

 

“I know how this looks but I swear we’re innocent,” Stanley said.

 

“Even though my brother is obviously holding your clothes.”

 

“Not helping, Sixer.”

 

The twins noticed the stricken expressions on the strangers’ faces.

 

“It’s true, we simply happened by—”

 

“It’s you two,” Rick interrupted, and they couldn’t quite tell what their tone was.

 

The twins exchanged a glance then Stanley asked, “Do we know you? I usually remember pretty ladies.”

 

“W-we told you before we’re not women!” Rick snapped.

 

The twins looked from the strangers to each other again, confusion only growing.

 

“I’m sorry, _do_ we know you?”

 

Instead of answering the brunette, Fidds, tentatively wondered, “Does this mean we’re theirs now?”

 

“Fuck that, we’re not anyone’s. I-I-I’ll rip their throats out first.”

 

“But they’re _them_.”

 

“And they have our feathers.”

 

“Oh! Right, here,” Stanley said, holding out the garments. “Sorry about, uh, messing with your stuff.”

 

The strangers eyed him and the robes warily.

 

“You’re just…giving them back?” Fidds asked in disbelief.

 

“Well, they are yours,” Stanford pointed out. “We’re not thieves.”

 

“Not right now anyway.”

 

“Thank you for that unneeded addition, Stanley.”

 

The strangers exchanged a look that seemed to hold a whole conversation. Tentatively they reached out for their robes. As soon as their hands touched the feathers they snatched them up quickly and clutched them tight to their chests.

 

“So is anyone else as confused as I am?” Stanley wondered.

 

“I’m quite lost.”

 

“Oh! I don’t think they recognize us, Rick,” Fidds realized.

 

Rick rolled his eyes and replied, “And you call yourself treasure hunting weirdness researchers.”

 

“Wait, how do you know—”

 

“It’s us, fellas. I’m Banjo,” Fidds said.

 

“I’m Honeypants,” Rick said.

 

“I’m even more confused,” Stanley said.

 

The twins looked at the strangers—their swans apparently. The pair looked back expectantly, wrapping their feathers around their naked bodies. Stanley leaned over to his brother, speaking low enough he was sure the others wouldn’t hear.

 

“Hey, Sixer? What’s it say about me if I admit our swans are kind of cute?”

 

Stanford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?”

 

“Oh, so you don’t think they’re cute?” Stanley asked, purposefully raising his voice. Their swans raised an eyebrow. Stanford reddened.

 

“So! You’re really Honeypants and Banjo? That’s fascinating!” he quickly said, fiddling with his glasses.

 

“Ah, well, yes,” Fidds confirmed. “We’re not really swans exactly.”

 

Curiosity rapidly replacing embarrassment Stanford asked, “What are you two, then? Witches? Shifters of some sort?”

 

“We’re swan folk. Sorry for not telling you fellas the truth earlier.”

 

“N-not that we ever were,” Rick commented.

 

“Yeah, I’m still lost,” Stanley admitted. “What’s a swan folk?”

 

Stanford started walking around the pair, examining them up and down. Fidds giggled; Rick rolled his eyes.

 

“I’ve heard of swan maidens. They’re a type of aquatic mythological creature much like selkies. That is, an animal in the water—in this case swans—but can shed their skins, or feathers, to take human form.”

 

“I definitely noticed the human forms.”

 

“Yes, thank you for that necessary comment, Stanley. It was quite helpful and appropriate.”

 

“Hey, I’m just trying to be included. This all goes right over my head.”

 

“Stanford’s right, we can take human shape if we remove our feathers.”

 

“But again, not maidens,” Rick repeated.

 

“Ah, right. Apologies.”

 

“See, there’s a lot of bizarre stuff in this forest. Cheating unicorns, weird half unicorn half leprechaun singing bastards, living campfires that actually are kinda cute, etcetera. But you’re expecting me to believe that you two—pretty human looking, pretty _good_ looking—are our swans?”

 

Rick rolled his eyes again. “I knew you’d be difficult. Y-you want us to transform for you? Prove ourselves?”

 

Stanley thought for a second, then nodded. Fidds chuckled as Rick sighed dramatically.

 

“Based on personalities alone I’m fully convinced that’s Honeypants,” Stanford commented, earning him Rick’s middle finger.

 

In unison the pair took hold of their feathers and with a quick flourish, there were suddenly two familiar swans where they had stood. The swans gazed up at them expectantly. For a moment the brothers just stared, gobsmacked.

 

With a whistle Stanley conceded, “Well, huh, I guess they’re swan folk or whatever.”

 

“This may be the most fascinating discovery we’ve made in Gravity Falls yet.” Stanford squatted next to the fowls. Banjo—or, rather, Fidds—butted his head against Stanford’s hand; he readily stroked the soft feathers.

 

“Yeah this is a lot cooler than anything else in this nightmare forest,” Stanley agreed. He knelt beside his twin, petting Rick. After a moment though he froze. “Uh, Sixer?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Remember all those heartfelt things we said around them because we thought they were just swans?”

 

Stanford went rigid. The swans honked, and it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

 

They shook rapidly, and suddenly their feathers fell off human skin, and they were swans no longer.

 

“Don’t worry, we don't think any less of you fellas,” Fidds assured as they straightened. “In fact, you’re both very enduring.”

 

“For humans,” Rick reluctantly agreed.

 

“When we spent the night together, and we changed out of our wet clothes… Stanley, they’ve seen us naked.” The swans laughed. Stanford’s cheeks heated. “I always knew I’d die from mortification.”

 

“I don’t see the big deal,” Rick said. “We’re naked right now.”

 

“Yeah, we noticed,” Stanley replied, still trying not to look. It was still very hard.

 

“Wait, so when you just thought we were swans you were fine being naked around us, but now that you know we can look like your species you’re suddenly modest?”

 

Fidds giggled and said, “Humans are so silly.”

 

The twins fumbled awkwardly, Stanford adjusting his glasses and Stanley rubbing the back of his neck. Both were very red and pointedly looking anywhere but their swans.

 

Stanley glanced up as a drop fell on his nose. More drops followed at a steadily increasing pace.

 

“Aw, man, rain again?”

 

Fidds inched closer to his partner, picking up his feather and drawing the robe around his frame tightly. Rick likewise held his feathers close to his chest. Stanford noticed.

 

“I know you didn’t accept the offer last time, but why don’t you two come home with us?”

 

“Hey, yeah! I swear we’ll be perfect gentlemen. Our ma raised us right.”

 

Rick opened his mouth, but a well timed clap of thunder made it snap shut. He glared up at the sky.

 

“They do know our secret,” Fidds pointed out, “and they even gave us our feathers back. I’ve never heard of a human doing that.”

 

“Y-yeah. Yeah, fine. Lead the way, Stanley.”

 

The twins beamed and did just that. As the rain picked up they even put their jackets around the swans who seemed surprised at the gesture. Some silent conversation passed between the two and they gladly nestled into them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically did I make the twins furries in this au?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys bring their swans to the shack and have a cultural exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What time is it? New chapter time! Well, okay, I'm a few hours late for a Sunday update, technically, but close enough. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Some nudity, but again nothing like explicitly described and no sexual shenanigans.

 

“Welcome to La Casa de Pines,” Stanley announced, throwing open the door.

 

Stanford went in first, groping around for the light. The swans followed. They looked around the little shack and suddenly the twins were hit with self consciousness. Between busting themselves with research and odd jobs, and their lack of steady income, they hand’t had much opportunity to spruce up the place. Also they had a tendency to just leave things scattered about. There were boxing gloves hanging from a kitchen chair that had been drug into the middle of the front room (Stanley), books and papers piled all around (Stanford), and plenty of abandoned clothes and shoes (both).

 

The twins shared a grimace.

 

“Make yourselves comfortable while we, ah, tidy up.”

 

“Yeah, take a load off anywhere,” Stanley added, moving books off the couch. He set them on the floor next to it. “There’s Pitt Cola and, uh, bread? I don’t actually know what swans eat.”

 

“Y-you realize there’s  a difference between your normal, dumb swans and swan folk, right?” Stanley stared blankly. Rick rolled his eyes. “Their stupidity is almost endearing.”

 

Fidds smacked his arm.

 

“Be nice. They haven’t met our kind before.”

 

“Lucky them.”

 

To Stanley Fidds quickly explained, “We can eat anything you boys can.”

 

“Great! I was afraid we’d have to get seaweed or something.”

 

Stanford slapped a hand to his face. “Please ignore the asinine things coming from my twin’s mouth. I know I wish I could.”

 

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a hospitable host. Now, would our guests like anything? Like a towel to dry off, something to eat?”

 

“Clothes?” Stanford offered, noting how both their feathers and the loaned jackets hung loose off them, neither seeming to notice or care.

 

“And you call me rude,” Stanley snickered. Suddenly, as Fidds adjust his feathers fell further down his shoulder, exposing his chest, and both brothers clapped a hand over their eyes. “I’ll, uh, find you something to change into.”

 

“Please hurry,” Stanford mumbled, cheeks a deep red. As his brother disappeared into another room he told their guests, “I’ll go get drinks.”

 

He briefly debated between water and Pitt Cola, settling on the latter. When he came back into the living room the swans—or, well, swan _folk_ —had their backs turned towards him as they examined the room. Stanford watched them silently for a moment, noting how they didn’t stray far from each other.

 

The pair were looking at the photos they had displayed. Mostly there were images of different creatures they’d encountered, and a few pictures of the twins. Then, of course the one they were really looking at, was a picture of ma and them as kids. It sent a pang through his heart.

 

Stanford cleared his throat, and they turned. As he held up the sodas the pair came over to him.

 

“Thank you, Stanford,” Fidds said with a warm smile.

 

Both opened their respective can and took a sip. Rick’s face scrunched up.

 

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

 

“I don’t think it’s that bad. But I do wonder what’s rattling around inside.”

 

“That’s the pit,” Stanley answered, coming back into the room with arms full of clothing that he deposited haphazardly on the couch. “That’s their whole schtick.”

 

“Interesting. I hate it,” Rick replied.

 

“An understandable reaction,” Stanford said as his twin started sorting through the clothes.

 

“So you two are pretty tall, but definitely skinnier so these sweaters might be loose, but they’re better ‘an nothing.” He tossed them at Rick and Fidds. “Pants are trickier but I got some pj bottoms you can—holy moses!”

 

The twins covered their eyes once again, cheeks burning. Their swans had started undressing right there in the living room.

 

“Is something the matter, fellas?”

 

“Everything’s fine!” Stanley squeaked. “We, uh, we’re just gonna let you two change in private.”

 

The twins tried to leave the room without uncovering their eyes. They managed to bang into everything: the couch, the doorframe, each other. Stanford even stumbled over a pile of books that ended up kicked half across the room. Somehow they managed to escape to the kitchen.

 

“Humans are bizarre,” Rick declared, purposefully loud enough for them to hear.

 

“This whole thing has been bizarre,” Stanford commented much quieter to his twin. Stanford nodded.

 

“It’s almost hard to believe.”

 

“Yeah.” A beat. “I guess we can put our hands down now.”

 

Stanford hummed in agreement. Neither did until Fidds called out from the other room. 

 

——

 

“Voilá!” Stanley exclaimed, brandishing a plate of baked potatoes and hamburgers. 

 

As he served them Fidds complimented, “It looks and smells just wonderful! It was sweet of you to cook for us.”

 

“We’ve never had cooked food,” Rick said, beaming with excitement. Stanley’s brow furrowed.

 

“Wait, you’ve never had cooked food?” The swans shook their heads. “That raises a lot of awful questions about your eating habits.”

 

“H-hey, cooking is m-more, more of a human thing,” Rick replied defensively. Stanley put a hand on his shoulder and Rick looked up; Stanley stared intently into his eyes.

 

“Don't worry, I will make up for your lifetime of deprivement.”

 

“The correct term is ‘deprivation’.” Stanford went ignored.

 

Stanley sat down between his brother and Rick. He motioned for them to give the food a try, leaning forward as he watched the swans eagerly.

 

While Rick started with the meat Fidds chose to have a bite of potato—skin and all. As soon as the food touched their tongues both swans’ faces lit up. They made small sounds of delight; Stanley grinned with pride.

 

“Oh, wow!”

 

Rick hummed in agreement.

 

They switched, taking a bit of the other food. Again they made pleased sounds, and again Stanley beamed so hard his face hurt.

 

“Pretty damn tasty, huh?” he prompted.

 

“Mhm!” Fidds replied, already shoveling more into his mouth.

 

“I’m starting to see why you humans cook stuff all the time.”

 

“Yes, our early human ancestors stumbled across real magic with this little culinary trick,” Stanford chuckled.

 

The swans scarfed their dinner down in record time. Still hungry, Stanley brought out ice cream for dessert. Their eyes went saucer-wide.

 

“Oh! Sweet snow!” Fidds exclaimed.

 

“Humans call it ice cream,” Stanford informed, watching as they swans eagerly dug in. Rick scoffed around his spoon.

 

“That’s a ridiculous name.”

 

“Don’t correct our guests, Sixer,” Stanley playfully admonished, elbowing his twin. Then, barely audible, added, “They’re too fucking adorable.”

 

Stanford hummed in agreement, murmuring bak, “They’re quite fascinating.”

 

Since they only had two beds the swans bunked together on Stanley’s while the twins shared Stanford’s. Mostly it was Stanley who sprawled out on his brother’s bed; the latter was too geared up, writing furiously in his journal about their swans. Their _swan folk_.

 

——

 

In the morning Stanley went out early to buy everything needed for homemade pancakes. He was eager to see how their swans would react to his specialty, even splurging on a bag of chocolate chips. Of course he didn’t know if they could even eat chocolate so he also made a batch of plain ones.

 

Stanley was humming to himself, back to the doorway, so he didn’t notice when someone came into the kitchen. He jumped at a sudden inquisitive voice.

 

“W-what are you cooking now?”

 

“Oh, uh, hey. Morning, Honeypants.”

 

Stan glanced over his shoulder, grinning at Rick. His mouth promptly fell open at Rick’s attire: one of Stan’s shirts that barely covered his crotch, and his feathers hanging loosely from his shoulders. Nothing else.

 

Cocking his head to the side Rick repeated, “What’re you cooking?”

 

“Pan—” Stanley coughed and tried to hide his blush. “Pancakes. Got some ready if you want.”

 

Rick sat down at the table and Stanley fixed him a plate of both plain and chocolate chip. There was no hesitation as Rick took a bite of the latter. Stanley couldn’t stop the wide smile on his face as Rick’s eyes lit up just as they had at dinner. He quickly took another bite before he had even swallowed.

 

“Heh, guess you like them.”

 

Rick mumbled something unintelligible, but Stanley got the gist. He went back to the stove, alternating between making more pancakes and watching Rick happily munch on his breakfast.

 

——

 

Stanford stumbled out of his room, eyes firmly on the journal he was rapidly scribbling in. He was jotting down observations, questions, and theories on their guests. As with most things, Stanford craved to know everything he could about them. By far Fidds and Rick were the most fascinating beings he’d ever encountered. There was a library in town he intended to peruse for any material on swan folk. He planned on showing it to their swans and seeing how much their experiences diverged from the myths.

 

“You sure are workin’ hard on somethin’,” a voice said, startling Stanford out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see Fidds smiling at him just a foot away.

 

“Oh, um,” Stanford fumbled, closing his journal and tucking the pen behind an ear. He cared his throat and tried again. “Ahem, yes. Specifically I’m working on you. That is, trying to learn all I can about you and other swan folk.”

 

Fidds’ face fell into an expression Stanford couldn’t quite place. It was only there for a flash before his smile returned, if a bit softer. 

 

“Well I’d be happy to tell you all about Rick and me, if’n you boys do the same.”

 

“Ah, like a cultural exchange? That’s a splendid idea!”

 

After breakfast the four all sat down in the living room, the swans taking the couch while the twins crowded close in kitchen chairs they brought in. Stanford had his journal at the ready, open on his lap and pen poised above a blank page. Fidds couldn’t help a giggle as he lightly teased Stanford for being so eager, causing the other man to blush and clear his throat.

 

“Ah, well, shall we begin?”

 

“What do you want to know?” Rick asked, leaning back again the couch and looking around almost bored.

 

“For starters, everything.”

 

“Oh, good, that narrows it down.”

 

“Where’d you like us to begin, Stanford?”

 

“Hm. How about explaining the process of your transformation between your different states?”

 

The pair exchanged a look like they’d just been asked to explain why your hand would come back wet after touching water.

 

“Our feathers, obviously,” Rick answered.

 

“But you have them on now and you’re still human looking,” Stanley pointed out.

 

“Because we don’t want to be in our swan forms.”

 

“When we’re wearing our feathers,” Fidds told them, “we can sort of, well…I suppose you could say we merge with them. It’s not something we give much thought to. Like, when you breath it’s automatic, and sometimes you want to take a deep breath. So you do. That’s what it’s like to shift into our swan forms.”

 

“Hm, interesting. And to change back into this form?”

 

“Just shrug it off,” Fidds said.

 

“Shrug it off?” the twins echoed.

 

“Shrug it off,” Rick agreed.

 

Stanford hummed to himself and jotted all this down in his journal.

 

“Huh, wild,” Stanley commented, leaning back in his seat. “So like, you two just a Gravity Falls thing or are there swan folk all over?”

 

“Oh no, we’re not originally from here at all. Our kind are from all over. Any place you see a normal swan you could find us.”

 

“Ah-all magical creatures know about this place,” Rick piped up. “It’s pretty in, infamous. Great for the interim.”

 

Still writing away Stanford glanced up and asked, “So are there more swan folk in the area, then?”

 

Fidds bit his bottom lip, casting his eyes away from the brothers. Rick in stark juxtaposition stared right at the twins, casual, almost aloof posture not changing.

 

“What about you? No more in your flock?”

 

It was the twins’ turn to grow uncomfortable. As Stanley rubbed the back of his neck Stanford cleared his throat loudly, pushing his glasses up. Then he shut his journal, the thud a powerful force in the suddenly quiet room. 

 

“I suppose that’s enough questions for now. We can pick this up later.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Rick agreed, straightening. Fidds nodded adamantly.

 

“A break is definitely in order!”

 

“Great idea. Anyone need anything?” Stanley asked, shooting to his feet.

 

“A drink, if’n you wouldn’t mind.”

 

“Yeah, same,” Stanley mumbled, already heading for the kitchen.

 

Alone with the swans, Stanford cleared his throat again, an action that was cringeworthy in how obviously forced and awkward it was. He chanced a glance at the couch; Fidds was looking everywhere around the room except at him while Rick’s eyes bore into Stanford’s skull. He could feel his face heating up. With an incoherent mumble he excused himself and followed after his twin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I adore the trope of magical creatures either not understanding or not giving a single shit about the human etiquette of clothing?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, maybe not double date time, wink wonk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ready for some smaltzy bonding? And learning more about Swan Folk mythology! It's not very happy, though. Whoops.
> 
> Warnings: Like I said, swan folk mythology is like selkie mythology in that it's very non-con/dubious consent implied. Other than that, full fluff baby.

Stanford followed through with his original plan of visiting Gravity Falls’ modest library. The swans had wanted to tag along—Fidds genuinely, while Rick seemed more keen on keeping an eye on his companion—and Stanley joined the outing, too. Never one for academics, he convinced Rick to come with him around town. Fidds had to reassure him he was in capable hands, and after agreeing to meet up at the diner in a few hours they parted ways.

 

It was empty inside save for the single librarian at the counter who was absorbed in a book. At first Fidds staid close to his side as Ford searched through the index cards for what he needed. Soon enough, however, he started skimming the shelves further and further away from Stanford. He always came back after a few minutes looking torn between exploring and sticking near. Finally Ford encouraged him to go off on his own.

 

Stanford couldn’t help smiling as he watched his swan set free. There was a look of awe on his face as his fingers reverently trailed across numerous book spines. Occasionally he would take one off a shelf and skim through it.

 

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Ford went and sought out the material he came for. There wasn’t much but at least it was a start. Truthfully he was surprised he had come across anything that could be relevant.

 

Stanford first took a look at a simple mythological dictionary, ripping to the section on swan folk—or, rather, swan maiden. It barely took up half a page and only then because of the accompanying illustration. It was of a naked woman holding a pelt of feathers to her body, conveniently covering everything not PG, a swan at her feet. Ford read the summary.

 

**Swan Maiden:** _mythical creatures who appear as either human or swan with the ability to shapeshift into the other form with the aide of their swan skin, much like a selkie._

 

Well that was rather unhelpful. Ford already knew that much. He shut the book with a huff and tried an anthology on myths around the world. Luckily they had one legend on swan folk.

 

_“In a small fishing village an unwed young man was wandering the forest when he heard beautiful voices chatting and giggling. He followed the melodic sounds to the small lake where he saw three young maidens bathing naked in the water._

_Ducking behind a bush before he was seen, he watched them and with each passing moment he fell more and more enraptured with them—their beauty, their grace, and one in particular whose smile was brighter than the sun’s. He knew he had to have her._

_So the young man leapt out of the bushes, causing the maidens to panic. As they dove for their feathers he snatched the one belonging to the maiden he wanted. Her sisters donned their own feathers and transformed into swans, flying off. The young maiden followed the man back to his home._

_There she staid for many years, bearing him several children. Often they would catch her crying, but only when their father was not around. The children had never seen him unhappy, as he was so in love with his swan wife that nothing could ruin that cheer._

_When their father was out one day hunting the children went to their mother and begged her to stop crying, they would do anything to make her smile. She told them that the only way to fix her shattered heart was to find her missing feathers—and so the children did._

_They scoured the house for days whenever their father was away until they finally found a robe of feathers. They handed this garment to their mother who burst into the happiest smile the children had ever seen before draping the feathers over her shoulders and transforming into a swan. The children hardly had time to call out to her before she had flow off into the sky._

_When the man returned home to see his wife gone he wept for days, his children unable to console him. He could neither eat nor drink, nor sleep. Eventually, heartbroken, he died.”_

 

Stanford frowned; that was a rather grim and disturbing myth. If it had any basis in truth then it was no wonder they guarded their feathers so closely.

 

Stanford returned the books, not caring to dwell further on the unsettling tales and the implications they held. Then he went to find his companion.

 

Fidds was absorbed in a book that, upon closer examination, Stanford realized was some sort of technical manual. He wasn’t noticed at first, and Ford was content to just watch him for a bit. His swan looked so happy, so enraptured, and something warm fluttered in Stanford’s chest. In that moment he decided he wouldn’t breach the subject of those myths to him or Rick. For once he didn’t need to know every little detail.

 

——

 

“So you’ve really never interacted with humans, huh?”

 

“Nope,” Rick confirmed, bending down to look at something through the shop window. “No reason to, and no desire.”

 

“Until now.”

 

Stanley’s grin didn’t falter as Rick glanced up at him dryly. Their eyes staid locked for a moment. Rick tried to scowl but apparently Stan’s charm was just too overpowering; Rick rolled his eyes and turned away, but not before Stan caught a little upturn to his lips. 

 

“Hey, no shame. People can’t help falling for the Pines charm.”

 

“Y-you know, Lee,” Rick mused, straightening up, “I’m glad you’re the first humans we met.”

 

Stan’s eyes widened; his heart might have skipped a beat in shock at the sincerity in his swan’s eyes. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. Now I know just _how_ annoying your kind are.”

 

Stanley recovered quickly, guffawing. He clapped Rick on the back, making the swan jerk forward.

 

“You have no idea, Honeypants.”

 

“Sounds like a threat.”

 

With a wink Stan corrected, “A promise.”

 

Once again Rick rolled his eyes. This time though he didn’t hide his smile.

 

They continued walking around, Stan leading his companion everywhere he could think of that Rick might be even remotely interested in. Luckily Rick was fascinated by all of human living, only ever seeing towns from the outskirts and never interacting. He went around like a kid, eyes wide and curious.

 

Just as fascinating were the people, though Rick seemed more trepidatious of them. He staid close to Stan’s side, eying the townsfolk and flinching away from anyone who came too close. There were a few who waved and greeted Stan, and each time Rick pressed against his side as though afraid of anyone acknowledging him, too. Eventually Stan wrapped an arm loosely around Rick’s shoulders in a way he hoped Rick wouldn’t feel suffocated by. Amazingly he did seem to relax if just marginally. Just enough that Stanley wasn’t worried he’d have a panic attack or something.

 

Outside of different stores Rick would pause to peek in, eyes sparkling with wonder. Every time Stan wished he had the extra cash to buy him something, like a keychain at least. Just some little trinket so he could see how bright Rick’s eyes could get.

 

There was that gold Shmebulock had given them. Maybe Stan could do something with that.

 

“What’s this place?” Rick asked as they rounded a corner, breaking Stan out of his thoughts.

 

Stan looked up at the building, getting a pleasant surprise. Excitedly he informed his swan, “This is an arcade. Where kids, nerds, and cool guys alike can spend hard earned quarters showing off their button pressing prowess.”

 

“I didn’t understand a word of that but hot damn am I intrigued.”

 

Now _this_ Stan could spare a few quarters for. He flashed Rick a grin and offered, “Want me to show you?”

 

Rick grabbed his arm and practically dragged Stan into the arcade. He gladly let himself be pulled along, chuckling when they stopped just inside. Stan watched his swan look around with wide eyes, attention pulled every which way by the various beeps and flashes of the machines.

 

It was relatively uncrowded, just a few young teens and kids gathered around some of the cabinets. Most of Stan’s favorites were free.

 

“I’m gonna introduce you to the family favorite genre of fighting games.”

 

Stan directed Rick to a cabinet at the other end of the arcade. After popping two quarters in he put one hand on the buttons and around the joystick on the left side. Rick hesitated just a second before mimicking him.

 

With an encouraging smile Stan showed him how to choose a fighter, explaining their fighting styles even though he wasn’t sure how much Rick understood. Stan stuck with his usual main, a slow but heavy hitter, while Rick decided on a quick moving wiry fighter.

 

“Now I’ll go easy on you this first time since you’re new to this.”

 

Rick jerked his joystick and pressed several buttons, striking Stan’s fighter. Stan grinned.

 

“Gotta admire your fighting spirit, Honeypants.”

 

“Shut up a-and give me an actual challenge.”

 

Stan grinned wider and concentrated on the game. Rick caught on quickly, and his face was lit up with joy at every combo he landed. It was distracting, Stan having a hard time glancing away from his swan. He wasn’t too surprised when he lost.

 

“Ha! You’re a real natural, Honeypants.”

 

“That was pretty fun. Let’s do it again.”

 

Stanley counted his quarters; there were three left. Enough for another match, and then he could introduce Rick to something else with the last one.

 

“Sure, but this time I ain’t going easy on ya.”

 

Rick snorted. Putting his hands back on the controls he replied, “Hurry up already.”

 

This time Stan tried very hard to keep his eyes on the screen. His will was too weak, however, compared to how adorable Rick’s face was all scrunched up in concentration. Victory looked even better on him.

 

“Ha! I beat you even harder that time.”

 

Stan threw up his hands in surrender declaring, “You’ve obviously got a knack for this.”

 

“I think y-you just suck at this whole arcade thing.”

 

“Alright, wise guy, time for a new game.”

 

Stan took Rick by the wrist and pulled him over to a Pac-Man cabinet. With a flourish he motioned for his companion to get ready and popped in the last quarter. 

 

He snickered at the way Rick’s brow furrowed at the genre shift. For a bit he simply watched Rick try to figure out what to do. After trying to tackle a ghost head-on without eating a power pellet first Stan finally offered advice.

 

“Ya gotta clear the screen of all these little dots to move on, without touching the ghosts unless they’re flashing blue.”

 

“H-how the hell do I get them to do that?”

 

Stan was standing behind Rick and now he stepped closer, moving an arm around to place his hand on top of Rick’s on the joystick. Gently he pushed the joystick to the left, bringing Pac-Man to the nearest power pellet.

 

“Easy as that. Hurry before it wears off. You get more points if you eat them all.”

 

Rick got that look of concentration on his face again, but this time Stan was able to—mostly—focus on the screen instead. Probably due to his poor angle or else he knew he’d be transfixed again. He kept his hand over Rick’s, who didn’t seem keen on shaking him off. Together they managed to place fourth on the scoreboard when they inevitably ran out of lives.

 

“Not too shabby, Honeypants.”

 

“Start up another game. Now that I have the hang of it those ghosts are going down.”

 

“Heh, love the enthusiasm but I’m out of quarters,” Stan admitted sheepishly.

 

“H-how do we get more?”

 

Stan laughed and promised, “I’ll find a way. For now we should head to the diner. I’ll introduce you to cherry pie.”

 

Rick’s eyes lit up at that, making Stan grin as a warmth filled his chest. He led the way, Rick standing close to him like before when they stepped out of the arcade. Stan was so lost in the sensation, cheeks embarrassingly hot, that it took him a minute to realize when they walked right past the diner.

 

“Damn it, wait. This way.”

 

“Oh wow, you really know your way around this town,” Rick teased.

 

Stan huffed wordlessly, looking away. A shadow suddenly darted between the trees on the other side of the street, giving him pause. Nothing else moved, however; Stan shook off the unease that had clutched at him and continued on to the diner. 

 

The other two were already in a booth. Stan was surprised to see them sitting on the same side; he grinned at the implications. Also because that meant Rick would be next to him.

 

“Hey nerds, miss us?" Stan asked, slapping a hand down on the table and making the pair jump.

 

“Oh, hey there, fellas. Rick, the library is amazing!”

 

As Fidds started describing it, voice sparkling with wonder, the other two slid into the other side of the booth. In turn Rick told him all about the arcade with equal adoration. The twins shared a look, both smiling, as they listened.

 

Soon enough Susan came over. She beamed at the twins.

 

“Well hey there, Stans! Who’re your friends?”

 

Rick pressed closer to Stanley’s side, eyeing Susan carefully. Fidds on the other hand returned the smile full force and introduced them.

 

“Hello! I’m Fidds and this here is Rick.”

 

“I’m Susan. It’s always nice to see new faces around here. Especially some as cute as yours. Wink.”

 

The twins hid snickers behind their hands as Fidds blushed. Snickers quickly turned to sputters at Susan’s next question, however.

 

“So is this a double date? That’s precious!”

 

“Purely platonic!” Stan denied as Stanford declared, “Not a date!”

 

The swans glanced over at them, brows quirked. Susan simply laughed in a way that said she didn’t buy that at all. Thankfully she dropped it and took their order.

 

“So what’s a ‘double date’?” Rick asked.

 

Stan groaned; Ford suddenly found his hands incredibly interesting.

 

“Absolutely not what this is, Honeypants. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Whatever. H-hey, Lee?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“That red is a good shade on you.”

 

Giggling Fidds added, “And you too, Stanford. I wish ya’d turn it more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I made a chapter that is full of fluff yet at the core is all grimy and awful. That's just how it is in mythology sometimes. Most times.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The closest thing to a beach episode this story is getting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month later and we're back! Whoops. But at least I'm back with some super gay moments, so.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of homo/biphobia, Filbrick's poor parenting, death during childbirth. (Nothing graphic on anything, no worries.)

Fidds giggled, squirming in Stanford’s grasp, and told him, “That tickles!”

 

“Oh, um, my apologies. We can stop if you’d like.”

 

“I don’t really mind, Stanford. Besides, I want to help you with your research.”

 

“I really do appreciate this, Banjo, Ah, I mean, Fidds.”

 

With another giggle Fidds told him, “I don’t mind that little nickname, either.”

 

A blush creeping up his neck, Stanford finally lowered his companion’s arm and turned towards the open journal on his desk. They were in his office, Fidds sitting up on one side of the desk, or what passed as a desk—a quick makeshift thing Stanley had hammered together. It was at least sturdy enough for Stanford’s needs. Those needs currently being examining his swan.

 

Fidds had readily agreed to let Stanford check him out when he came to him earlier, face red and sweaty hands fumbling. And oh boy did that word choice just make him flush all over again. It didn’t help that Fidds had started stripping when they got into the office until Stanford stopped him.

 

Stanford needed to learn how to compose himself around Fidds before his heart exploded. Or he made a fool of himself. He had always been more than happy to leave misplaced courting to his twin, and since formally meeting Fidds he realized that was obviously for the best. 

 

Clearing his throat Stanford turned back to Fidds and requested, “Could I run some tests of you in your swan form?”

 

“Well sure!”

 

Fidds happily shed his borrowed clothes—Stanford hastily averted his eyes again—then tossed his feathers back on. In an instant there was a swan perched on Stanford’s desk. Fidds honked cheerfully at him.

 

Stanford started looking him over, noting with the limited knowledge he had that Fidds seemed like a normal healthy swan in this form, just like how he seemed a normal human in his other form. It was much different from, say, a werewolf where the alternate body made it quite obvious someone wasn’t a regular creature.

 

“Astounding. No one would suspect you were something other than a simple swan. I know we didn’t.”

 

Fidds shook and let out a little honk Stanford knew was the equivalent of laughter. He tried not to be embarrassed but couldn’t stop the heat in his cheeks. Since learning the swans’ secret he and Stanley really had been blushing often.

 

“I think I have enough information to work with for now if you’d like to—”

 

Suddenly the door burst open, causing Stanford and Fidds to jump; both let out surprised squawks. Rick and Stanley came into the room not looking apologetic at all.

 

“Hey, are you two done holing yourselves away because it’s almost warm outside so we were gonna go to the lake.”

 

“I see you've forgotten about the common manners of knocking first,” Stanford grumbled, readjusting his glasses.

 

Rick smirked straight at Stanford as he rapped his knuckles lightly on the doorframe.

 

“See, we got manners plenty. Now, you two coming or not?”

 

With one swift movement Fidds transformed again, catching the feathers as they slid off his shoulders and wrapping them close around his bare skin. Looking at Stanford—who pointedly tried not to stare back—he said, “I wouldn’t mind a dip, if you don’t mind us picking this up later.”

 

“No, not at all!” Stanford answered just an octave too loud. He cared his throat. “A break sounds lovely.”

 

Fidds beamed and started for the door.

 

“You gonna put some clothes on, dude?” Stanley asked, covering his eyes which he then rolled as Rick scoffed at him.

 

“If you insist.”

 

While Fidds redressed Stanford headed to the kitchen and managed to scrounge up what he considered a decent enough picnic, especially for such short notice. Fidds joined him after a few minutes, helping to match lids to containers. Just as they finished Rick and Stanley tripped over themselves racing into the kitchen. They both had bags and alarmingly wide grins.

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“It’s a surprise,” Stanley replied, eyes twinkling with a mischief Stanford knew well. He didn’t trust that in the slightest but he also wasn’t going to question it further.

 

“Let’s get going then.”

 

It really was a pleasant day. The sun shone down on the group, warming their skin against the light breeze. One could almost forget how late in the season it was already and how soon winter would be there.

 

The trip to the lake was equally pleasant, Fidds staying close to Stanford’s side while the other pair walked together with matching conspiratory grins. Stanford couldn’t help his own smile as soft feathers brushed his arm. He even pushed up his sleeves so he could feel them; he hoped he wasn’t being too obvious, but Fidds didn’t comment on it. Possibly he was too involved in telling Stanford all about the books Stanford had checked out for him from the library, and then the ones Stanford had laying around that he’d been devouring. Fidds seemed to have latched onto robotics of all things, and Stanford loved to hear him go on, offering his own input here and there.

 

Unsurprisingly no one was at the lake. Not even a pesky gnome or whatever creatures lived in the water were in sight.

 

“Alright, picnic time,” Stanley declared, dropping his bag on the ground. “I’m starving.”

 

Rick mimicked him, agreeing.

 

The other two set down their own bags and unpacked all the food. Stanford hadn’t thought to bring a sheet or anything so they spread the containers out across the ground between them. Everyone readily dug in.

 

“These sandwiches are a lot better than the last ones we made,” Stanley complimented.

 

“The secret is to have more than just pickles between the bread.”

 

“Revolutionary culinary.”

 

When they were done with lunch the twins unmoored the Stan o’ War II. Bypassing the boat entirely, Rick and Fidds stripped down then tossed on their feathers. In a blink they were swans and they jumped into the water next to the boat with happy squawks. The twins laughed and shielded themselves from the water getting tossed up. It didn’t do much good to keep themselves from being sprayed, but at least Stanford’s glasses didn’t get too wet.

 

Stanley pushed the boat out and they rowed to the middle of the lake. Their swans followed, darting around the small vessel and occasionally splashing them. Several times Rick purposely swam right in the way of Stanley’s our, making the human jerk quickly; once he nearly smacked himself in the face, and another time he would have ended up overboard if Stanford hadn’t grabbed his shirt just in time.

 

“You’re a goddamn menace,” Stanley called out, no bite to his voice, to the swan who only made a sound that was suspiciously like laughter.

 

When they finally settled the boat Fidds disappeared for a few minutes. When he came back he had shifted forms and was swimming towards them awkwardly, one hand balancing something on his head with care not to get it wet. As he came closer they saw it was his banjo.

 

He hoisted it into the Stan o’ War, then flopped over the side himself, landing on his back next to it. His feathers had fallen over his chest and thighs, shielding his naked body by some miracle. Fidds grinned up at the brothers unabashedly.

 

“Gonna serenade us?” Stanley teased.

 

Fidds sprung into a sitting position, bringing his banjo into his lap. In the process his feathers slipped down, exposing his chest; face bright red Stanford offered Fidds his sweater. Thankfully the swan took it.

 

“Alright boys. Now don’t you laugh if I’m not very good.”

 

Before either could reassure him Fidds started strumming his instrument. As the tune took form—gentle, almost melancholic—the twins settled in and even Rick swam closer to the boat, floating idly with his head tilted towards the music, eyes closing as the sound washed over him.

 

Then Fidds’ voice joined in. It wasn’t any language the humans knew, and they were sure it wasn’t a human tongue at all. Just like the tune, the decipherable words filled them with a sense of hopeful sorrow.

 

The twins listened without interruption, letting themselves get absorbed by the unknown words. it was a song of longing, of freedom, of desire all rolled into one.

 

Eventually Fidds’ voice tapered off, fingers slowing their strumming until one final chord was plucked. For a moment they were left in silence.

 

“I hope that wasn’t too awful,” Fidds said sheepishly, setting his banjo aside.

 

“You kidding? You got some voice on ya.”

 

“It was certainly beautiful,” Stanford agreed. “Though a bit mournful.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s, well, a traditional song. One of my favorites.”

 

“And the one th-that shows off his skills best,” Rick added, having shifted forms and grabbed onto the side of the boat.

 

“Sure don’t recall asking for your input,” Fidds shot back. A tinge of pink was coloring his cheeks now.

 

“What was the song about?” Stanford wondered.

 

Fidds looked off into the water, cheeks darkening. “Ah, well, you know. Swans and humans, things like that.”

 

Rick snickered and Fidds reached over, flicking him on the nose.

 

“Rude.”

 

“Ass.”

 

“True.” Rick grinned over at Stanley. “Hey, hey, let’s show them our surprise.”

 

Stanley squinted up at the sky, considering, Evening was starting to take hold as the sun disappeared behind the treetops. It was sufficiently dark enough for their purposes, especially since if they staid any later they’d be walking home in the dark.

 

“You guys ready for a show?”

 

“No, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll do whatever foolish thing you’re planning regardless of what I say,” Stanford retorted. His twin flashed him a grin.

 

Kicking off his shoes and stripping down to his underwear, Stanley dove into the water and together he and Rick swam to shore. They came back with the packs held above their heads much like Fidds had done with his banjo. Not caring how cramped the small boat was they both climbed in and revealed their surprise.

 

“Did you two really make homemade fireworks?” Stanford asked in disbelief even as he knew he shouldn’t be so shocked.

 

“Yup!”

 

“I have no idea what these are,” Fidds admitted, looking between the other three like a lost bird.

 

“Sky explosions,” Rick supplied.

 

“Oh!”

 

“Are all your guys’ words for human stuff so adorable?” Stanley wondered.

 

“F-fuck you and let’s set these babies off.”

 

“You are not lighting those on the boat.”

 

“Ah, don’t be a stick in the mud, Sixer.”

 

“It’s _dangerous_ , Stanley. Firstly, this vessel is wooden. Which, might I remind you, is flammable.”

 

“We’re surrounded by water,” Rick pointed out, literally gesturing towards the lake.

 

“It still stands that these are made by two amateurs who I’m sure didn’t hold their work to any sort of regulations.”

 

“Everything’ll be fine,” Stanley waved off, helping Rick who was already setting the fireworks up. Stanford huffed in annoyance, arms crossing, but he sat back and didn’t try any further to stop them.

 

There were  a few smaller fireworks, and a couple that were quite sizable—and that set Stanford’s nerves on end. He saw the excitement on Fidds’ face, though, and bit his tongue. If anything unfortunate happened he’d just have to do his brotherly duty and say _I told you so_.

 

Stanley lit a few tiny ones Rick was holding. The swan waited a beat then tossed them up in the air where they exploded in a shower of bangs and flashes. Fidds clapped his hands, earning him two proud grins.

 

“You wanna try?” Stanley offered, holding a small firecracker out towards him.

 

Eyes lighting up Fidds snatched the firecracker and practically vibrated as Stanley lit it for him. He waited until Stanley told him, “Now!” then tossed it up like the others had. It went off with a sizable bang and gunpowder fizzle.

 

“This is fantastic, fellas!” Fidds exclaimed, clapping his hands together again, giddy look over his face. Stanford’s mouth tugged into a fond smile.

 

“Far be it for me to be the odd man out,” he commented, reaching for one of the remaining small firecrackers. His twin gave him an encouraging wink that he steadfastly ignored as he lit the wick.

 

He had to admire the craftsmanship. It didn’t blow up in his hand and the light bang combo was quite satisfying.

 

It only took them a few minutes to work through all the tiny ones. Then Rick grabbed an alarmingly large one and held it steady while Stanley readied the lighter.

 

“I really think it’d be best to set these ones up on land,” Stanford said, safety overruling fun. It was a valiant attempt, but no one paid him any mind.

 

Stanley lit Rick’s firework, then immediately lit an equally large one that he held onto. They went off in succession—and seemingly with more force than anticipated. The boat shook and they both flew back, slamming into Stanford and sending him overboard.

 

Stanford flailed in the water on instinct for a moment until rationality hit him and he calmed down. He glared over at the boat where Stanley and Rick were cracking up, hanging off each other and the former slapping his knee. Behind them sparks rained down, crackling as though the sky itself was laughing at Stanford, too.

 

“That was fantastic! Ah, you should see your face, Sixer.”

 

“Even better than a grand finish,” Rick snickered. 

 

“You two are _impossible_ ,” Stanford huffed, swimming to the edge of the Stan o’ War.

 

The only one to show any concern, Fidds held out a hand which he easily took. Stanley started to offer his own only for Stanford to petulantly slap it away; his grin didn’t falter.

 

“You alright, Stanford?”

 

“Just wet, thank you,” he replied after climbing back into the boat. He readjusted his glasses that by some miracle hadn’t been swallowed by the lake.

 

The other two exploding into laughing again and he shot them a fresh glare. They paused for just a second before starting again even louder. Stanford shoved his twin who went tumbling right over the side; Rick, with no time to save himself, followed.

 

“That was mean, Sixer.”

 

“Stanley?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Stanford punctuated his words by splashing his brother in the face. Fidds giggled, then soon Rick started too. Stanford joined in next and finally Stanley couldn’t help his own guffawing.

 

It was rapidly getting darker and colder, so the four packed up and headed back to the shack. Along the way they fell into an amiable silence, no one feeling the need to fill the space with idle chatter.

 

Inside they parted in pairs to go dry off and change. Once in clothes that weren’t soaked Stanford decided to put on a pot of coffee. Susan had given them some beans the other day as an extra little thank you for some maintenance work. He was curious to see what their swans would think of it.

 

While he was waiting for the coffee to brew, Stanley with his head in the freezer bemoaning their lack of ice cream, he heard movement in the living room. Stepping in there Stanford spotted their swans on the other side of the room; his mouth tugged into a small frown. Like the night they had first come to the shack they were looking at the few pictures they had displayed. Fidds was pointing at the one where ma was holding both twins when they were very young.

 

“What’s up?” Stanley asked, coming up behind him. It was loud enough for the swans to hear and they turned to the twins.

 

“Trying to figure out why you used to wear those things on your faces like Sixer still does,” Rick answered.

 

“Do you mean my eyeglasses?”

 

“Mhm,” Fidds confirmed.

 

“I don’t need them like Sixer does.”

 

Giving him a dry look Stanford corrected, “He needs them, he just refuses to wear them.”

 

“Eh, my eyes ain’t that bad and I don’t need to see a mile away.”

 

“You can hardly see two feet away.”

 

Stanley shrugged nonplused. Used to his stubbornness, Stanford rolled his eyes.

 

“Told you that’s what those things are for,” Rick said, glancing over at Fidds.

 

“What a nifty contraption.”

 

“Man, it’s so weird remembering you two are so clueless about human stuff,” Stanley commented.

 

“Oh, well, our flock…didn’t care much for humans and their— _your_ culture.” Fidds fiddled with his hands as he spoke, fingers running nervously over each other. He turned away from the twins, looking back at the photo of them and ma. “So not everyone in your flock needs ‘eyeglasses’?”

 

“Nope. Ma’s visions was perfect,” Stanley told him. “Hey, you two should try coffee. Should be done now, right Sixer?”

 

“Right! I nearly forgot.”

 

Stanford hurried back to the pot. As he poured four mugs the others gathered at the kitchen table. He handed the swans their drinks then went to go get sugar and creamer. Before either he or Stanley could warn them they took a sip.

 

“Wh-what the fuck?” Rick sputtered, face morphing in an exaggeration of disgust.

 

Snickering Stanley explained, “It’s still hot, ya gotta let it cool a minute. Also, yeah, it’s pretty bitter plain. You gotta add stuff to it.”

 

“I rather like it,” Fidds decided. Stanley’s brow shot up while Rick shot him a look of disbelief.

 

“You like it black just like Sixer. Go figure,” Stanley snorted.

 

“Y-your tastes are shit.”

 

“Here, sugar helps.”

 

Stanley poured two spoonfuls into Rick’s mug and stirred for him. Then he motioned for him to give it a taste. Rick did, made another face, and poured in several more spoonfuls.

 

“And you have as big of a sweet tooth as my brother,” Stanford teased, taking a sip of his own drink—which he indeed didn’t add anything to.

 

Using the spoon to point at him Stanley said, “You inherited your bad coffee choices from ma.”

 

“She did always like it better didn’t she? I mean, when she didn’t have any bourbon on hand.”

 

“‘Cause she was a classy dame.”

 

They drunk their coffee in silence for a bit. The atmosphere wasn’t tense, exactly, but an air of awkwardness had settled around them, as though they were all waiting for someone else to speak. Finally the twins shared a look, and a private conversation passed between them.

 

“You know,” Stanley spoke up, making the swans perk up, “ma woulda really liked you guys.”

 

“You think so?” Fidds asked softly, leaning forward and wrapping his hands around the nearly empty mug.

 

“No doubt. She always liked…quirky individuals.”

 

“I don’t know how to take that,” Fidds pouted.

 

“You’re ones to talk,” Rick chimed in, pointing at one twin then the other. “If anyone here is quirky, it’s you.”

 

“That’s rich coming from someone who literally has no other examples of how humans are.”

 

“Sure, but if you expect me to believe all your kind is as weird as you two then I can’t even fathom how your species hasn’t gone extinct.”

 

“Human tenacity,” Stanley supplied, puffing out his chest proudly. Rick snorted and he stuck out his tongue.

 

“Oh Rick, be nice. Besides,” Fidds half mumbled into his mug, “there are plenty of prey animals as silly as humans that have stuck around.”

 

“What was that?” Stanford asked.

 

“Nothing! Tell us more about yer ma? If she’s anything like you two I know I would have adored her.”

 

The twins both blushed.

 

“Ah, she was pretty swell. Used to run a psychic hotline that did pretty well. I think she actually had super powers with the way her predictions used to come true,” Stanley mused. He was looking off in the distance now, eyes fogging over with memories and lips twitching upwards.

 

“She did have an uncanny ability to make predictions. Shame we didn’t inherit it.”

 

“Heh, yeah, that’d really come in handy.”

 

Silence filled the kitchen again. Stanley banged the spoon around his mug. Rick quirked his brow but didn't say anything.

 

“Was she the only other member of your flock?” Fidds asked out of the blue, voice gentle.

 

“Ah, no, not exactly. We got a younger brother and there was also our pa, Filbrick. Shermie was just a baby by the time we left,” Stanley told him.

 

“Ma was already…deceased by then.”

 

“Y’know, sometimes I still feel bad leaving Shermie alone with that bastard. Not that we had a choice unless we wanted to add baby kidnapping to our rap sheet.”

 

“Not to say Filbrick is capable of raising children, but I feel we are both under equipped ourselves, especially in regards to babies.”

 

“Point, but still.” Stanley hesitated before admitting, “I wonder how Shermie’s doing now.”

 

“You don’t stay in contact?” Fidds asked.

 

“Not exactly. And by not exactly I mean not at all.”

 

“Is that normal human behavior?” Rick wondered, and Stanley noted how he was gripping the handle of his mug so tight his knuckles were white. “Leaving your flock, I mean.”

 

Rubbing the back of his neck Stanley told them, “Well, sorta. It’s common to go off for a lotta people nowadays, but most stay in contact with their, uh, flock.”

 

“And usually they leave of their own accord.”

 

Fidds frowned, face furrowing. Rick likewise gave the twins a curious look. Stanley and Stanford glanced at each other, silently agreeing to give them the full story. Stanford nodded subtly, letting his brother take the lead.

 

“Our pops was never the most nurturing guy. Kinda think he might have been disappointed in us the second we were born.”

 

“In me, at least,” Stanford interjected, wiggling all twelve fingers. Stanley pursed his lips.

 

“Eh, I think I outshine ya in the disappointment race. See, for a while it was just us, pops, and ma. Then when we were in high school she had Shermie, but it was a rough birth.” Stanley paused, swallowing thickly. “Anyway, we got a new little brother but didn’t get to keep our ma.

 

“Taking care of Shermie mostly fell on us, since pops was generally busy running the pawn shop. But sometimes we’d watch both while he was taking a break. One day we were doing just that when a guy came in that we knew. He had been a year ahead of us and we were catching up. And by catching up I mean—how to put it…”

 

“Flirting shamelessly,” Stanford supplied.

 

“Yeah, that. Which was great! It wasn’t easy back then especially in New Jersey to be queer. Not that it’s all sunshine and rainbows now, but Gravity Falls is an amazing place where no one cares about that sort of thing. Unlike pa.” A shadow crossed Stanley’s face. “When he came in and saw me and that guy together he went ballistic. I’d never seen him that angry before. Anyway, long story short, I had to get out of there, two minutes to shove as much as I could in a duffle.”

 

“I left with him,” Stanford said. “There wasn’t any other option I could see, and I couldn’t abandon Stanley.”

 

“And here we are.”

 

“Oh fellas, that’s terrible,” Fidds said, voice full of pity that made both brothers want to squirm in discomfort. He reached out and put a hand over either twin’s. Stanford noted how he seemed to specifically make sure to touch his excess finger.

 

“Y-yeah, that sucks,” Rick agreed, leaning against Stanley’s side. “You’re better off without that asshole.”

 

“Heh, can’t argue with that.”

 

Even though everyone’s coffee was either cold or finished, they all staid at the table, connected. Rick even stretched out his legs until his foot pressed up against Stanford’s. He didn’t move away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I hitting you with some good fluff and bonding just to amp things up next chapter? We'll see, won't we?
> 
> Also, yes, Stanley set off fireworks while dripping wet and in nothing but boxers. It be like that sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a cultural misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this updated? Me neither. Also, a month later and this update isn't 10,000 words? Smh.

While Stanley was out doing something he assured was absolutely important, Stanford was running more tests. Rick had even consented to help out, though Stanford had an inkling it was more due to boredom than a desire to broaden his knowledge. This was highlighted by the fact Rick mostly sat backwards on a chair antagonizing Stanford. Thankfully after the first— _grating_ —hour he was able to just let the insults wash over him like white noise.

 

“Hm. It’s absolutely fascinating how your feathers can grow or shrink congruent to your body.”

 

Rick snorted. “Ju-just simple magic.”

 

Stanford rolled his eyes; Fidds covered his mouth though that did nothing to muffle his snickering.

 

“Anyway, I’d like to take your vitals before and right after your transformation if you don’t mind. I’d ask Rick as well, if I thought you would actually cooperate.”

 

“I’m wounded,” Rick faux gasped, holding a hand to his chest.

 

“So you’ll—”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Wonderful. You’re an invaluable help, Rick.”

 

“I’ve never ben helpful in my life, how dare you.”

 

“I have no trouble believing that.”

 

“You two are incorrigible together,” Fidds chided mildly.

 

Midway through Stanford monitoring Fidds’ vitals, Stanley slinked into the office. He was beaming like a man who’d put something into motion he couldn’t wait to see play out.

 

“Oh hey, you’re back,” Rick noted. His tone was casual, almost bored, but the way his face lit up absolutely betrayed him.

 

“I am,” Stanley confirmed. He was rocking on his heels, looking ready to burst at the seams.

 

“Dare I ask what you’ve been up to?”

 

“That’s private information, Sixer,” Stanley replied with a wink, which meant that he’d tell Stanford when they were alone. “So what are you nerds working on?”

 

“Nothing interesting,” Rick answered.

 

“I was in the middle of tracking Fidds’ vitals between trans—”

 

“Nifty, sounds like a blast. Hey Sixer, help me with something in the other room?”

 

Stanford followed his twin out into the hallway, Rick and Fidds’ curious looks following them both. He closed the door and quirked an eyebrow at Stanley’s unrestrained grin. He was practically _glowing_.

 

“Why are you so proud of yourself now?”

 

“Because I’m a smooth operator,” Stanley replied, whipping out two thin bracelets that glinted in the light. “Remember those coins Shmebulock gave us?”

 

Stanford’s eyebrow shot up. “Are these—?”

 

“Pure gold bracelets that probably got some residue magic or something on them. One for each of our swans.”

 

“That’s…actually very surprising of you, Stanley.” Stanford’s lips twitched upwards. “You’re usually only this magnanimous when you have a crush on someone.”

 

“Hey, I could just give both of these to Honeypants and make you look bad.”

 

Stanford instantly wiped the smile off his face. In turn smugness creeped into Stanley’s grin.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Your thoughts ain’t just scientific where Banjo’s concerned.”

 

Stanford could feel the heat washing over his face and wondered how red he was. Judging by Stanley’s snicker— _a lot_.

 

“I’m not—he’s simply—I swear my feelings are perfectly—” Stanley just gave him a look that said he wasn’t buying a, poorly formed, word. Stanford cleared his throat. “FIdds is a very…enjoyable individual.”

 

“Wow, what a flatterer,” Stanley teased, holding out one of the bracelets to him. Stanford took it without meeting his twin’s eyes.

 

After making sure stamford followed his lead, they want back in. Rick was balancing a pen on his finger while trying to keep Fidds from knocking it off, both so absorbed in that they didn’t realize at first the twins had returned. Stanley cleared his throat loudly, startling the swans. The pen wobbled dangerously on Rick’s fingertip, threatening to fall right off. Snapping his hand shut around it Rick barely managed to save it. He shot Stanley a peeved look.

 

Holding up the bracelet he had, and nudging Stanford to do the same, he announced, “We got you guys something.”

 

Their eyes widened and for a long moment neither spoke. The twins tried not to squirm as worry at at them, its teeth sharpening with every second of silence. They snuck glances at each other, not gaining any reassurance at the fact both were clueless—this had not been the expected reaction.

 

“Uh, too much?” Stanley finally ventured with a chuckle that fell flat.

 

Stanford barely managed to resist telling them this was all Stanley’s bright idea.

 

“Are you…trying to keep us?” Fidds _finally_ asked. Any relief the twins might have felt, though, was overtaken by confusion.

 

Rick snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms. It seemed more defensive than his usual abrasive demeanor.

 

“Told you. Th-the clothes, the food, let—letting us stay. They’re trying to keep us.”

 

“I feel there’s a cultural misunderstanding happening,” Stanford said, lowing the bracelet. He nudged Stanley to do the same. “Perhaps if you two explained what you think we’re trying to do.”

 

“Keep us,” Fidds repeated as though it were obvious.

 

“The gifts are classier than outright stealing our feathers, but it doesn’t change what’s going on here,” Rick said with a mixture of emotions in his voice that the twins couldn’t quite untangle.

 

“Okay, I am incredibly lost here,” Stanley admitted, looking between the swans and his twin. “Someone wanna fill me in?”

 

Mind whirring Stanford replied, “It seems they believe we are attempting to buy their companionship, if you will, to keep them here with us.”

 

“Again, better than just stealing our feathers, but pretty fucking presumptuous,” Rick huffed.

 

Cheeks tinted pink Fidds mumbled, “Well I don’t know about that.” Rick shot him a look and Fidds held up his hands defensively. “Just musing out loud!”

 

Rick didn’t seem like he believed him at all.

 

The twins were still very much confused.

 

“Yeah still lost over here. Is gift giving offensive in your culture or something?”

 

“It seems gift giving, at least from humans, is a sign of…less than savory intentions.”

 

Stanley paled. “Oh god did we just ask them to marry us or something?”

 

Stanford, freezing with his hand midway to his glasses, blushed deeply. “That would be an…an _interesting_ miscommunication. Which I’m sure isn’t binding. Right?”

 

“Shit it’s not like one of those fairy promises you can’t break is it? Or like when you piss off a witch and she steals your hands?” Stanley spun on his twin, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I’m not ready to get married, Sixer! And I need my hands!”

 

“Rick,” Fidds spoke up over the brothers’ panic, “I don’t think they’re trying to keep us.”

 

“They’re not trying to keep us, they’re just idiots,” Rick agreed.

 

“Should we…calm them down?”

 

Rick shrugged. “Eh, this is funny.”

 

Fidds bit his lip. He wanted to chastise the other swan, but Rick did have a point. It was a little amusing to see them panicking over what they now realized was a complete misunderstanding. Of course it was also a huge relief. In fact, Fidds almost want to slap _himself_ for even entertaining the thought their humans had any inauspicious thoughts towards them. It was silly, really.

 

Finally, when he was pretty sure Stanford couldn’t handle being shaken anymore, Fidds reached out and placed a hand on either brother’s shoulder. They both stilled instantly like Fidds had worked a spell over them, and turned to him. It took all Fidds’ willpower not to laugh.

 

Rick, having no filter and not caring for one, did.

 

The twins look at him aghast. Slowly Stanley let go of Stanford who adjusted his glasses that had been knocked akimbo. He couldn’t quite get them right though so with a soft giggle Fidds reached over and helped him out.

 

“I feel we may have been a bit irrational for a moment,” Stanford mused, gulping as Fidds pulled away.

 

“I-i-if all humans are as boneheaded as you two then I really can’t see why our kind is afraid of them.”

 

“Hey, you’re the ones who freaked out over two little bracelets,” Stanley snapped, embarrassment having turned his face into a tomato.

 

“To be fair they are actual gold,” Stanford pointed out. “From gnomes.”

 

The mirth was instantly wiped off the swans’ faces, replaced with stricken looks and the return of that pink tint on Fidds’. If Rick weren’t so dark skinned he’d most likely be the same way.

 

“Way to help the situation, Stanford.”

 

“Why are you giving us _gold_?” Fidds wondered in a tone so hushed the twins only heard it due to the quiet of the shack.

 

The twins glanced at each other; neither knew how to answer that.

 

“I mean, you know…”

 

“Just a simple token of our, um…”

 

“Don’t read too much into it!”

 

“Not to say you two aren’t very, ah, that is—”

 

“We just wanted ya to have something nice, alright?”

 

“I realize gold may be…it could be seen as…”

 

“A little much, yeah. But I thought it’d look good on you.”

 

“And I’m sure it would! Quite fetching indeed, not that we expect you to wear them. That would be rather presumptuous—”

 

“Yeah, I see how this could be taken the wrong way. Pretty rude of us, right?”

 

Stanley gave a nervous little laugh. Somewhere in their ramblings he had started rubbing the back of his neck and couldn’t quite look at either of the swans. Stanford likewise was focusing on a spot on the far wall, standing ramrod straight. Thankfully the swans took pity on them.

 

“Fellas,” Fidds interrupted, voice soft and holding up a stilling hand that drew the twins’ eyes, “don’t worry. I think…gift giving is just a thing in your culture. Right?”

 

“If your name ain’t Filbrick yeah.”

 

Stanford side-eyed his twin but bit his tongue. After all it wasn’t like he had any room to speak.

 

Snorting Rick said, “Should have realized you two bumbling idiots didn’t know what you were doing.”

 

“Just to be clear, we ain’t married?” Stanley clarified.

 

Fidds snickered; Rick rolled his eyes.

 

“Y-you two clods wouldn’t know what to do with a kept swan.”

 

“See, that sounds like an insult but I’m okay with this,” Stanley decided. “Because this whole ‘keeping’ business seems kinda creepy.”

 

“It, well, sort of is,” Fidds confirmed, and the twins instantly paled. He was quick to reassure, “But we ain’t getting married! It was just a silly misunderstanding that we can all put behind us now.”

 

“Just push this all down and never mention it again,” Rick agreed.

 

Stanley felt a—very weird and confusing—weight lifted off his shoulders. Yet, remembering the gold bracelets that had started this all, he couldn’t help looking down at it with a tinge of regret. He had been imagining this gold against Rick’s brown skin far more than he’d like to admit. It would look great! All glinting even in his swan form, a little symbol of how much Stanley was attached—

 

Alright, thoughts too deep. Time to curb that quickly.

 

“Listen, even if we ain’t asking to keep-marry you, it’d be a waste for you not to take these things. They’re for your ankles so they won’t be in the way when ya transform. Fashionable and practical.”

 

Stanley spoke with all the nonchalance he possessed, and hoped it was convincing. Ignoring Stanford’s knowing look he chanced a glance at their swans. They were turned to each other, some silent conversation playing out between them. Rick’s brow went from shooting up to being furrowed in rapid succession, while Fidds seemed one moment contemplative, the next pleading, and at one instance even a little angry. The only thing the twins could do was wait with baited breath.

 

At last they turned back to the twins. Fidds was grinning while Rick leaned his elbow flippantly against the desk. Stanford noted how he was eying the bracelet with an unreadable expression.

 

“Golly, fellas, I suppose it would be awfully rude in human terms to say no. We’ll gladly accept your not-keeping, not-marrying gifts.”

 

Fidds stepped even closer, eyes wide and gleaming bright as the gold. Rick nudged him with his foot none too gently.

 

“D-don’t act so desperate.”

 

Without turning Fidds reached back and slapped in Rick’s general direction, hitting nothing but air. He settled on flipping the other swan off.

 

Stanford cleared his throat and looked down at Fidds’ bare ankle. It was just there, waiting for him. Stanford cleared his throat again, and his mind.

 

“Well, go on and put it on him,” Stanley urged, elbowing his side.

 

“I am! Shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

 

The tips of Stanley’s ears were darkening with red, giving Stanford just a drop of smugness. At least he wasn’t the only flustered one about all this. It was heartening to see his twin’s usual confidence fading into the bumbling sap he was at his core.

 

While Stanford knelt down in front of his swan, Stanley went over to his. He brought Fidds’ foot onto his thigh and clamped the bracelet around his ankle. It looked so pretty against his slight tan and Stanford felt something fluttering in his chest. He glanced over at his brother, too shy to look back up at Fidds quite yet.

 

Rick had lifted his right leg and let Stanley slip the bracelet on without a word. Stanley was holding his leg reverently like he was touching a prince. The gold stood out strikingly against Rick’s brown tone.

 

“What d’ya think?” Stanley asked, apprehension dripping heavily off every word.

 

“They’re beautiful! Thank you fellas so much.”

 

Rick shrugged and commented, “Eh, not half bad. At lest you have some taste. For humans.”

 

“Personally I think these bracelets would have been fine keeping gifts,” Fidds said. Then as if realizing that had been out loud stammered, “Ah, that is, well, you know.”

 

Stanford was sure his face was like a tomato on fire. Stanley’s certainly was.

 

Before anyone else could say another word the room was filled with a drawn out clapping. It was a condescending, _dangerous_ sound that the twins knew far too well. Slowly they turned to the doorway.

 

Jimmy Snakes was there, leaning against the frame with all the ease of a man who belonged wherever he said he did.

 

“Hey there Sixer, Kitten,” he drawled, even notting at either twin in a treacherously calm and familial way. “Long time no see.”

 

The twins felt their hearts stop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this will get done one day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley doesn't have a good track record with men, and Jimmy's the worst of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride Month! Speaking of month, that's about how long it's been since I last updated this, lol. Did you enjoy being left on a cliffhanger? Ha, well I swear this isn't abandoned or anything, and I do have the ending in sight. Just a matter of getting it all written up. So for now, enjoy this pride month update. 
> 
> Oh, and warnings for some violence and mentions of selling both humans and paranormal creatures. Not exceptionally graphic, but it's there.

 

For a tense—minute? day? lifetime?—silence reigned. It was broken by a cruel snicker that made the swans flinch and the twins’ breath hitch.

 

“Jimmy,” Stanley finally said in disbelief, “you’re supposed to be in jail.”

 

“And you were supposed to be my boy, Kitten. Turns out you’re unloyal little cowards.”

 

Rick’s foot slipped out of Stanley’s grasp as he pushed himself into a proper sitting position, leaning forward against the chair back with an air of boredom around him. “Who’s this chump, Lee?”

 

Stanley’s first thought was _a ghost_. Yet as much as he wished this wasn’t happening, he knew that Jimmy was right there and not some haunting specter. He was real, and there was _danger_ in his eyes.

 

They couldn’t afford to show weakness. Stanley had learned that never bode well when dealing with guys like Filbrick or Jimmy. Wouldn’t get them anywhere except trouble. Or dead.

 

So, summoning all the nerve he had Stanley spat, “Jimmy Snakes. Old flame of mine who never could take a hint.”

 

That made Jimmy guffaw, a sound that had Stanford wincing. Fidds inched closer to his side.

 

“I always loved your feistiness, Kitten. It’s endearing.” He flashed Stanley a grin that revealed far too many of his teeth to appear friendly. “Amusing, but you gotta learn when to shut yer trap before ya piss me off.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Stanley demanded, hands balling into fists at his sides. He didn’t wonder _how_ Jimmy had found them; he always had his ways of getting what he wanted. The _what_ in question was the terrifying part.

 

“You really got to ask?” Jimmy held a hand to his chest in a show of dramatics. “Why, Kitten, ain’t it obvious? I’m here for you.” His hand dropped and suddenly he sneered. “Don’t you think you two owe me?”

 

A surge of protectiveness overcame Stanford and before he knew what he was doing he was on his feet exclaiming, “We owe you nothing, Snakes! Now get out of our home.”

 

Another laugh left Jimmy, this one drenched in a humiliating mixture of surprise and idle amusement. It made Stanford feel like a petulant child who refused to go to bed. Heat rose to his cheeks.

 

“You've grown a spine, Sixer. I’m impressed. Bad time for it, though. Now let’s make this easy, boys. And quick. I am a busy guy, after all.”

 

“Just pointing this out that it’s four against one, so maybe—”

 

“What makes you boys think I’m alone?” Jimmy interjected. To prove his point he let out a high whistle and several figures popped up behind him. Then more and more showed up behind those first few. There was fire in all their eyes. 

 

Jimmy’s gang.

 

The twins audibly gulped. Fidds pressed even closer to Stanford’s side, and he could feel the swan’s shudder through to his bones. Even Rick sat up straight. 

 

“Well shit,” he said eloquently, vocalizing the thought they were all sharing.

 

“Now, here’s how things are gonna go down, Kitten. First, Fordsy and you are gonna be good for me. Listen to every single goddamn thing I say and obey me just like in the good ol’ days. Think of it as a trial of redemption.” He snickered at some joke none of them could understand. “And for my first order, I’m telling ya both to step aside from these two pretty little things right here.”

 

More out of instinct rather than rebellion they both stepped nearer to their swans.

 

“I almost admire the loyalty, boys, misplaced as it is. But I highly recommend you step back if you don’t want the gang here to ruffle any feathers.”

 

Jimmy seemed so proud of that pun and it downright disgusted the twins. Their swans tugged their feathers close.

 

“You’re not laying a grimy hand on them,” Stanley snarled.

 

“Those two pretty things are worth more than you can imagine. So I will be laying my hands on them as I deliver them to the highest bidder.”

 

“You’ll have to go through us first.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

Jimmy snapped his fingers and the gang came forward. Stanford pushed Fidds behind him just as Stanley stepped in front of Rick, cracking his knuckles and desperately wishing he had pocketed his brass knuckles earlier. In the old days he used to always have them at the ready but at some point he’d grown too lax. He should’ve known better.

 

“Alright boys, who’s ready to rumble?” Stanley taunted.

 

They got rumbled and pummeled.

 

Stanley and Stanford gave it their all, dreading the thought of what would happen to their swans in Jimmy’s grasp. It just wasn’t enough. It was two against way too many, them completely unarmed while the gang had their usual adornment of chains and knives. To their credit the twins went down singing. But they still went down.

 

It was a chain wrapping around his legs and pulling them out from under him that ultimately did Stanley in. He slammed down against the bare wood floor, shoulders banging first then his skull. Pain shot throughout his body, and he was vaguely aware of someone yelling out to him—Rick, maybe. Stars in his eyes, he glanced over at his twin who was faring no better. At some point Stanford had lost his glasses. He was struggling to defend against three goons but it was a futile attempt. Soon enough he was on the ground, too.

 

Silence descending on the room. Then there were heavy bootfalls echoing through it; they rung like bells in Stanley’s swimming head. Jimmy stopped between the two, a deep mocking laugh around the cigarette he must have lit sometime during the fight.

 

“Now that was downright sad to watch, boys. Then again I suppose I always knew you were more bark than bite.”

 

There was a small chitter from the gang until Jimmy held up a hand, silencing them. He didn’t take his eyes off Stanley.

 

“Still, I admire you for having the guts to even try fighting back. You boys got that survivors’ spirit. Not a whole lotta good that did ya here, huh?” Jimmy snapped his fingers and pointed at the swans. “Let’s pack up now. I’ve had enough of this hick town.”

 

His goons were quick to obey. Two approached Rick and Fidds, and the twins hollered out for them to stop. They were rewarded with violence. Stanley caught the sound of flash striking flesh before his attention was taken up by Jimmy’s heel digging into the palm of his hand. Before he could stop it a choked scream escaped him.

 

“Hush now, Kitten. You know you don’t get any say here.”

 

“Don’t you touch them and don’t you touch us!” Fidds hollered, followed by a solid thud as one of the goons crumpled to the ground.

 

Everyone’s head swiveled, the twins admiring the sight. Fidds was brandishing one of Stanford’s hardback notebooks; likewise Rick held up the chair he’d been sitting on and was imitating a lion tamer, keeping another goon at bay.

 

Jimmy snorted. “Shoulda figured if you’re attracted to them they’d be the type to fight even when it’s hopeless.”

 

Then he whistled, and with a jerk of his head several other goons went after the swans. Rick jabbed with his chair, striking one in the chest and grinning at the bastard’s pained grunt. Another two came after Fidds, and while he swiped with his makeshift weapon it wasn’t enough to keep them at bay. Eventually one grabbed Fidds’ arm and yanked the notebook away. Defenseless, Fidds was easily subdued. With none protecting his back Rick was soon overtaken from behind. They bit and squawked at the goons but it was a losing battle. In no time Rick and Fidds were stripped of their feathers and chained.

 

“Give those back!” Rick yelled, struggling against the chains. They held tight.

 

A goon kicked him in the side. Rick’s yowl was a knife twisting in Stanley’s heart.

 

“Jimmy, please,” he groveled, looking up at the man with all the piteousness he had in him. Which in that moment was an infinite amount.

 

Jimmy snorted. “There’s a word ain’t often heard from you, Kitten. This swan must mean something special to ya, huh.”

 

Stanley didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

 

“What about you, Sixer? Just as desperate to stay with your swans?”

 

Stanford just glared.

 

“You know what? You boys have moved me,” Jimmy announced, arms sweeping around the room. He addressed his goons, looking at each of them like a king addressing his people with an important decree. “I’ve made an important decision, gang—these little lovebirds deserve to stick together.” 

 

Jimmy walked over to Stanford’s abandoned glasses and retrieved them. He knelt in front of Stanford and brushed off some dirt from the cracked lenses. He slipped them onto Stanford’s face were they sat crooked. Stanford grit his teeth, and Stanley knew it was taking all his willpower not to tremble.

 

Standing back up he grinned back from one twin to the other. Their hearts beat wildly. “See, these swans can fetch a very pretty penny, and we can just throw you in as a little bonus. Sure magical creatures are big tickets, but there are still plenty of sellers who don’t mind the regular old human freaks.”

 

Jimmy’s slow chuckles as he turned back to his gang chilled the twins, blood turning to ice in their veins. As the goons bound the twins up Stanley couldn’t even struggle. Stanford bit at the ones chaining him and was rewarded with a slap to the face that left a ringing in his ears and a cut on his cheek.

 

Stanley wanted to blame the absolute ache through his battered body for his lack of fight, but what really paralyzed him was worse than any bodily harm—despair. He knew how Jimmy worked and he knew what happened to fools who double crossed him. Like they had. Stanley couldn’t help blaming himself; what had he ever seen in that bastard?

 

Stanley was yanked to his feet. As the goons led him out he managed to twist enough to get a look at their swans. Rick was fuming and cursing at the goons. Finally one got fed up enough to shove a bandana in his mouth.

 

Their eyes met for a brief second and Stanley looked away. He stared straight ahead, not really seeing anything as the goons shoved them out of the shack and into the back of a van. Inside it had been modified so in the end the four were thrust into a large cage. When they were all nice and tucked inside Jimmy shut the bars softly in a grotesque juxtaposition to the whole situation. The last thing they saw before the doors were closed and they were sealed into darkness was jimmy’s slimy smirk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people are posting fun, upbeat stories and chapters in honor of Pride. All I do is hurt. Welp.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being trapped is very conducive for past reveals and quality bonding time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I made a joke about showing up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks on this fic yet? Anyway, we're in the last stretches! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Minor suggestiveness

It was sweltering hot in that cage. Not being buckled down and hands bound tightly, the four were tossed around like toys in a box. At first Stanford had called out to Fidds who answered, but after a quick exchange to make sure they were mostly alright no one else said anything.

 

Then Rick managed to spit out the bandana in his mouth and the cage echoed with he most colorful curses Stanley had heard yet. It lasted a full minute on a single breath, which Stanford had to admit was impressive.

 

Finally Rick paused and took a deep breath. Much calmer he said, “Lee, you have shit taste in men.”

 

Stanley guffawed. He hadn’t been expecting that, but he couldn’t rightly refute it. Except for, “What about you?”

 

He realized what he’d implied when it was too late to take the words back. Rick didn’t seem phased however as he retorted, “Oh, I-I’m well aware of my faults, but I’ll go ahead and state for the record I’m nowhere near as shit as that douchebag.”

 

“You’re definitely not the worst guy my brother’s ever had his eye on. Which says a lot about his tastes.”

 

“Absolutely fuck you, Sixer,” Rick said, smile audible.

 

“I’m glad we can all joke a little in this dire situation,” Fidds spoke up, voice shaky, “but things are, well, dire.”

 

That little bit of mirth was instantly sucked away. Softly Stanford told him, “I’m so sorry we got you two caught up in this. I had hoped Jimmy was firmly in our past, but it seems we were wrong.”

 

“It’s okay, Stanford,” Fidds assured. There was a scuffling sound, and then Stanford felt something press against his side. Fidds. He laid his head on Stanford’s shoulder and so quiet he barely heard it said, “The past always comes back, one way or another.”

 

An overwhelming silence once again descended on the quartet. Around them the van kept moving, every bump jostling the four as they got closer and closer to their fate. Not knowing how far away that was hung over their heads.

 

Out of nowhere a laugh bubbled inside of Stanley and he couldn’t swallow it back down. Three pairs of eyes stared his way that he could feel even in the darkness, prickling his skin.

 

“I was just thinking how this might be the worst date I’ve ever taken someone on.”

 

“Surprisingly enough, Lee, i-it could have been worse.”

 

Stanley snorted in agreement. “Lease we got ta give you those bracelets before shit hit the fan.”

 

“They are nice,” Fidds said, surprising him. Stanley smiled at one of the numerous dark corners.

 

“They’re a poor substitute for your feathers,” Stanford said, “but they do look good on you. Ah, I guess our feelings are obvious at this point. That is, towards you two.”

 

FIdds chuckled a little, small and regretful. “I’m not that understanding on human culture, but fellas, I think it’s obvious there are no worries. And well, we feel the same way.”

 

“Really?” Stanford asked, never before truly entertaining the thought their swans were interested in them right back. At least not in the same way.

 

“Wait, what about you, Rick?” Stanley wondered. “A guy oughta speak for himself for things like, uh, _this_.”

 

“You mean the heart?” Fidds supplied.

 

Heat spread over both twins. Stanley swallowed thickly and replied, “Yeah, uh, if you wanted to put it that way.”

 

“Well, Rick? I think Stanley needs ta hear it from your mouth,” FIdds teased.

 

There was a pregnant silence—Stanley was getting pretty tired of those. He leaned forward as much as his bonds would allow.

 

“It’s nice that we can all bullshit in a dire situation, but we are in a dire situation,” Rick finally groused.

 

Stanley laughed. He decided to take that as all the confirmation he needed.

 

Besides, Rick had a point. They needed to get free. Somehow.

 

“Hey Sixer, you wouldn’t happen to have some super nerd tool tucked away would you?”

 

“Oh! Now that you mention it—of course not.”

 

“Was worth a shot.”

 

Stanley went back to his mental drawing board. He drew a blank.

 

“Fuck. I’m open to ideas.”

 

“It’d be a good first step if we could get out of these chains,” Stanford said.

 

“Aha! Someone come here. I can totally manage that.”

 

“ _How_?”

 

“My mouth.”

 

“Your mouth?” The swans repeated incredulously.

 

“My mouth is very talented.”

 

“Oh dear. Rick, why don’t you—”

 

“I’d love to, let me just squirm to the other side of this stupid cage like a goddamn—”

 

Suddenly the van hit something hard, veering so sharply to one side that they were all thrown against the same wall. Rick ended up splayed across Stanley’s lap.

 

“Well then. Go right the fuck ahead, I guess. With whatever your mouth can do.”

 

“Yeah, uh, let me just…”

 

Stanley shifted his hips so he could push Rick into a better position. It was tricky and  more than a little awkward. He shoved all the growing embarrassment to the back of his mind. He could deal with that later. Survival before embarrassment.

 

Finally he got Rick situated so he could get his mouth around the chains. The silence permeating the cage, though, was just too much. Stanley was really fucking tired of that.

 

“Okay, you guys gotta start talking or you’ll make this awkward.”

 

“Oh! Alright, then. Um, hello Stanford. Come here often?”

 

Rick and Stanley burst into laughter.

 

“You’ve been around my brother too long.”

 

“I’m not the best conversationalist under pressure,” Fidds huffed.

 

“Don’t make me laugh right now. This is delicate work.”

 

“Don’t make this last longer than it needs to,” Rick added, obviously feeling the same self-consciousness as Stanley.

 

“Well it’s not like conversation is just going to come naturally to us,” Stanford pointed out. “What are we supposed to talk about? The weather?”

 

“I don’t know, just say the first thing that comes to mind. Hell, tell a story. You’re both smart—think of something.”

 

“Fine. Fidds, did you know that I can spell my last name two different ways using the periodic table?”

 

“Anything but that.”

 

“You sure are picky, Stanley. You can tell me about it later, darlin’.”

 

“Even better, I’ll show you.”

 

“I hope Jimmy crashes and we all die,” Rick muttered. Stanley hummed around the chains in his mouth.

 

There was a pause as the pair tried to figure out a conversation topic. After a moment Fidds tentatively ventured, “We could always tell you about ourselves, since you boys told us about your past. If’n you want to know.”

 

“If you’re alright with telling us, then of course.”

 

Rick tensed beneath him but Stanley didn’t comment.

 

“Ah, well, where ta begin?”

 

Fidds let out a nervous little chuckle. Stanford was sure if he weren’t tied up he’d be fiddling with his fingers. Or feathers, if those hadn’t been stolen.

 

“Begin at the beginning,” Rick huffed when Fidds didn’t continue.

 

“Right. Well, we had a flock, once upon a time. Used ta be a whole lot of us. But the number one rule was ta stay far away from humans, and if someone got taken you left them.”

 

“That’s quite a harsh rule,” Stanford commented. Rick snorted.

 

“I mean, it’s understandable. Through the centuries humans have thinned our numbers whether from killing us for our feathers or stealing us for…less than savory intentions.”

 

Stanford cringed at the implications, remembering the folklore he’d read about. He wished he could offer some sort of support or comfort, but even if his hands had been free he wouldn’t know how, and in matters like these he was no master of words. Most likely any platitudes he could come up with would be ineffective. 

 

“Rick and I were always more interested in your species. Some of you are dangerous, sure. I mean, just look where we were. Metaphorically, since we’re literally—and I guess metaphorically, too—in the dark. But there are some mighty fine humans, too. Kind ones, like those folks in Gravity Falls. And, well, you two.”

 

Stanford knew he was blushing. But as sweet as that sentiment was he couldn’t focus on it, too many questions bubbling up as Fidds continued.

 

“We strayed from our flock one day, which wasn’t that unusual. Rick always liked going off and fool that I am I always followed. We’d people watch, absolutely fascinated. We should have been watching closer though because one day a human tried to steal our feathers. He got ahold of mind, and Rick, instead of doing what we were taught, fought the man. He got my feathers back, but he was hurt bad. Then a storm hit. We tried to fly through it, but it was too strong and Rick was too weak. We ended up disorientated and flew off course. We were forced to seek shelter under a tree. It was terrible. By the time we managed to find our way back to where our flock had been they were already long gone.”

 

“Yeesh, no wonder you guys don’t like storms,” Stanley said. He sat up and told Rick, “Alright, you should be able to wiggle out of those chains now.”

 

Rick tested his bonds and sure enough he managed to slip them down. The chains clanged against the floor, echoing through the cage. It was music to their ears.

 

“H-h-holy shit, Lee. Th-that, that’s a really impressive mouth you have.”

 

“That’s just the tip of what my mouth can do. Wink.”

 

Rick worked on getting Stanley free next. It was much easier with hands, and soon Stanley shimmied out of his chains, too. 

 

As they started undoing the other two’s chains Stanford tentatively said, “I’m sorry about what happened to you. Back then and what’s happening now.”

 

“It’s alright. It’s been years now, and we’ve gotten used to living on our own.”

 

“I’m glad we found you all the same.”

 

“I am, too,” FIdds agreed. “Both of us are.”

 

Rick grunted, and the twins knew that meant he felt the same.

 

Absentmindedly Stanford rubbed where the chains had cut into his skin. His mind was whirring away with possible plans for their next steps. Their biggest obstacle was getting back those feathers.

 

“I’m thinking we wait by the door, then when it opens jump whoever’s there,” Stanley suggested.

 

“It’s a possibility, and it’s not like we have many other options,” Stanford replied.

 

“At least this time we’re better armed,” Rick pointed out, followed by the jangle of chains. Now they were all free. A fierce confidence surged through Stanford.

 

“Jimmy would have kept your feathers close by since he intends to sell us,” Stanford deduced. “All we need to do is subdue who we can, distract who we can’t, and find them before we escape.”

 

“If we get the drop on them, I think we just may be able to pull this off, fellas.”

 

“Sounds doable to me,” Stanley agreed, already wrapping chains around his hands. Not brass knuckles, but they felt wonderfully solid.

 

They got into position by the doors, just out of view when they’d open. In tense silence they waited. And waited.

 

And waited.

 

“This may be a longer drive than anticipated,” Stanford finally commented as everyone’s adrenaline started running low.

 

“Well that’s thematically inconvenient,” Rick said, followed by a thud like he’d just plopped down.

 

Exhaustion was starting to set in. Stanford gently touched his face; he could feel the nasty shiner setting in. He proposed they take turns resting and staying on guard, which the other readily agreed to.

 

Stanley took first shift. As he settled down crossed legged and glared at the door, wiling this shindig to start, Rick laid his head against Stanley’s thigh. Stanley as grateful for the darkness hiding his blush.

 

“Oh, uh, wow. Okay.”

 

“Problem, Lee?”

 

“Absolutely not,” he quickly assured. “Like, we have the exact opposite of a problem.”

 

Rick snorted and fell silent.

 

Stanley did not know what to do with his hands. He couldn’t put them in his lap because of Rick, and crossing them would just be awkward. Tentatively he placed one hand on top of Rick’s head, and when he was met with no protest he dared to thread his fingers through Rick’s hair. Rick let out a soft sigh, a sound so faint Stanley wasn’t quite sure he didn’t just imagine it. He liked to think he hadn’t.

 

They staid like that until he switched guard duty over to Stanford.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, folks. I swear this one won't take a month to come out.


End file.
